Whispers in the Dark
by bambers2
Summary: Dean had kept the secret for a year. He believed the danger had passed. They'd just begun rebuilding their lives, and then the phone rang . . . Charlie's back and this time he has supernatural abilites...
1. Chapter 1

_So as promised, the first chapter to the sequel of When Darkness Calls...if you haven't read the first, i strongly suggest that you read that one first as it would be hard to cover all that came before it, although i think i have covered a lot...thanks for reading...hope you everyone enjoys...oh, need to mention, that i think this first chappy has some pretty gruesome parts in it...as with all stories, i own nothing...well, except for Charlie, he is all mine!!! let me know what you think!! bambers;)_

_Whispers in the Dark_

_Chapter One_

Sam raised his gun, slowly shifting it back and forth as he heard the sound of ominous laughter coming from every direction all at once, but he couldn't see anyone. Taking slow measured breaths, he stealthily crept further into the underground dwelling.

He hesitated, panic filling him as he recalled being chained to the wall, Charlie looming over him with the cruel four-pronged Spanish Tickler in his hand. Sam felt a twinge of pain in his side, and remembered the hot searing agony of the prongs ripping through his flesh. "You can do this, Sam," Sam repeated over and over under his breath."If you don't stop Charlie, he's gonna kill Dean."

"Dean," he quietly called out. Somewhere just out of his line of vision, he heard his brother draw in a slow ragged breath, followed by a muffled cry of pain. "Where is he, Dean?"

"G-get outta here, Sammy," Dean begged, his voice hoarse and breathless.

"I'm not leaving you, Dean."

"S-sorry, I lied . . . th-thought he was — "

Sam heard Dean cry out then groan in pain, and rushed to where he thought Dean was, but couldn't find him in the darkness. "Dean." He waited, listening for his brother, but heard nothing but Charlie's laughter. "Dean, where are you."

"What's the matter, Sammyboy?" echoed Charlie's deep voice off the walls of the darkened underground bunker. "Not enjoying the game?"

Spying something rapidly moving off to the right, Sam took aim and fired his gun. The bullet ricocheted off the stone wall, sending sparks of white light scattering through the air.

"Not even close." Charlie chuckled.

"I'm gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch."

Charlie's maniacal laughter grew even louder. "As I recall, that's exactly what your brother said. Don't think you'll have any better luck than he did."

Before Sam could think to react, he felt himself being hurled backward through the air. He slammed into the wall, but instead of sliding downward, an invisible force kept him upright. Against his will, Sam's arms started moving outward toward the shackles attached to the cold stone wall. Muscles straining, Sam struggled in vain as the metal cuffs encircled his wrists and clamped tightly shut.

"Dean." Sam yanked on the binds with all his strength but they wouldn't budge.

"Always calling to your brother to come and save you, Sammy," Charlie chided, then drew in a deep breath. "But not this time. You see, this time I took care of him first." At the sound of his voice, several candles on the table against the wall, flickered to life.

Out of the darkness, Charlie strode forward, clutching a bloodied knife in one hand, and dragging Dean's motionless body with the other. Blood dripped soundlessly to the rough cement floor, from several deep slashing wounds across Dean's chest.

Charlie gripped onto his hair and jerked Dean's head backward, and Sam cringed, tears springing to his eyes at the sight of his brother's face. Four deep wounds cut across his brother's right eye, tore through his cheek, nose and lips, then trailed downward to his neck. _Oh God, Dean what the hell did he do to you?_

Pointing to the long reddish scars on his own face with the tip of the blade, Charlie grinned. "He messed up my face, so I returned the favor."

Charlie forcefully slammed Dean to the ground, and strode to Sam, pressing the blade against Sam's throat. He turned to look at Dean for a moment , then swung back to stare at Sam. "Wanna watch him die, Sammyboy, before I tear you wide open again?"

"Don't you dare touch him, you sonuvabitch," Sam growled, clenching his fists, and yanking even harder on the metal restraints.

"Was that a yes?" Charlie strode back to Dean, grabbed onto his hair again, and jerked his head back viciously. He glanced up at Sam, and cocked a sardonic brow. "Don't look away, Sam, wouldn't want you to miss anything." Charlie plunged the knife deep into Dean's throat, blood spilling out to cover his hand as he tore through Dean's neck.

Blood gurgled on Dean's lips, as he gasped for breath. His dull green eyes locked with Sam's for a moment, and then slid closed, his head lolling to the side.

"Dean!" Sam sat bolt upright in bed, trembling, his hair soaked with sweat. He frantically looked around the bedroom of their apartment for any signs of his brother. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a lone figure shadowed in darkness, standing by the window, staring out the glass at the stormy night.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked in a shaky voice.

The figure turned, and a bright flash of lightning illuminated his face. "I'm comin' to get you, Sammy," Charlie whispered. The room went dark again and Charlie was gone.

Sam leapt off his bed and rushed to Dean's, and snatched the knife his brother kept under his pillow. Noticing a small shaft of light coming from beneath the bathroom door, Sam sprinted to it, and pounded on the door.

"Dean." He banged his fist even harder on the wooden surface when his brother didn't immediately respond. "Open the damn door, Dean."

Dean snatched a towel off the rack beside the shower, and quickly wrapped it around his waist. Rushing to the door, he nearly fell on the wet linoleum. "Sonuvabitch." He yanked open the door, and saw Sam with a knife clutched in his shaking hand, body visibly trembling, his face glistening with sweat.

"Sammy, what is it?" Dean tilted his head to the side to look around his brother and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What happened? You have another nightmare?"

"He was here, Dean . . . he was here." He bobbed his head in the direction of the window. "I saw him over there."

"Who was here?" Dean asked, confused by his brother's almost terrified sounding rants.

"Charlie . . . you said he was dead . . . said you salted and burned his bones." Sam's chest heaved as he breathed in and out rapidly.

"It's not possible, Sammy . . .it's been a year since he died." Dean shook his head._ It couldn't have been him, not after all this time has passed. The demon had to have killed him._

"I know what I saw."

"You sure it wasn't a nightmare?"

"I was awake." Sam hesitated for a moment, and then added, "I mean, I did have a nightmare about him, but I know I was awake. He was there, I swear to God, he was."

"All right, dude, let me get dressed, and we'll take a look around."

_Why now after all this time? Christ, we were just getting our lives back together. _Dean quickly toweled off his muscular arms, chest, and legs, then threw on a t-shirt. Grabbing his boxers, he slid them on, followed by a pair of grease-stained jeans.

Taking the knife from Sam, Dean headed to the window and looked outside. Rain pelting against the glass, along with thick overhanging branches of a maple tree, obscured the view somewhat, but in a flash of brilliant white light, Dean could still see that no one was in the front yard.

He turned to look at his brother, and shook his head. "Don't see anyone, dude. Let's take a look out back." Dean slipped on his shoes, grabbed his gun and motioned for Sam to follow.

They searched the entire backyard of their landlord's house, but found no one. Sam flicked on his flashlight and aimed it at the ground, looking for footprints in the wet, muddy ground, and shook his head in disbelief when he couldn't find even one set of tracks. They made their way around to the front of the house, and still found nothing to indicate Charlie had been there.

Dean swung to look back at his brother, and realized if he didn't do something quickly all the progress they'd made over the past five months would be wasted. Dean recalled that day five months ago, and remembered the deep sadness in Sam's eyes when Dean was struck speechless the first time he'd seen the scars left behind by Charlie's brutal attack_. Five months and countless beers bottles blown away, and I'm finally getting you back, Sammy. This can't be happening again — it just can't be. _"Sammy, he not here, he died back at the bunker."

"I'm telling you, he was here." Sam angrily raked back the wet clumps of hair partially covering his hazel eyes, and glared at Dean."He whispered that he was coming to get me. I'm not making this up, Dean."

_You will hear me coming as if I'm a whisper in the dark. There will be no where you can run. No place to hide. And if you think I hurt your precious Sammy now, just wait until next time. _Dean heard Charlie's taunting voice inside his head, and a sick feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. It was the last thing the madman had said before he'd vanished from their lives a year ago, and Dean was sure the Yellow-Eyed Demon had taken care of him.

"Let's go back inside." Dean inclined his head toward the front steps, and started walking in that direction, and Sam followed. "We'll figure this out, Sammy, I swear to you, we will."

At the steps, Sam paused, and grabbed onto Dean arm. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean turned to look at him, and saw Sam's eyes narrow considerably.

"He was in the room, and then disappeared . . . and in my nightmare, he somehow threw me against the wall without even touching me . . . he couldn't have done that, Dean."

"It was a nightmare, Sam, crazy things can happen in them," Dean said, trying not to think of Charlie's wager with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and his new found supernatural abilities. _But how would Sam know about them if Charlie isn't alive? God, please just let it have been a nightmare. He'll never forgive me if he finds out I lied to him. _

"Dean did you . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he touched the side of his face. "Did you slice his face open with that four-pronged weapon?" He glanced at his side, and Dean knew he was thinking of the long jagged scars on his side and stomach. "The one he used to. . . . "

_Sonuvabitch . . . he is back. What the hell am I supposed to do now? _"Let's just go inside, Sammy," Dean said, craning his neck to searched the deserted road for any signs of Charlie.

"Not until you answer the question." Sam crossed his arms, and stared defiantly at Dean.

"Sam." He scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out the best way to tell his brother what he'd successfully kept a secret from him for the past year. "Yeah, before I killed him, I did."

"A nightmare . . . all in my head, huh?" Sam nodded, pursing his lips. "When did you plan on telling me, Dean? Or didn't you?"

"It's not like — " Dean tried to explain, but Sam cut him off.

"So, he's some sort of vengeful spirit, coming back to finish the job. Damn it, Dean you should've told me you didn't salt and burn him."

Dean swallowed hard, seeing the look of distrust forming in Sam's eyes. Taking a deep breath, Dean shook his head. "Not a vengeful spirit, Sammy."

"Thought you said you killed him?"

"I did kill him."

"And he's not a vengeful spirit — what does that leave, Dean?"

"He's . . . he's not dead."

"Not dead," Sam said, raising his voice, and a dog belonging to the neighbors across the street, started barking. "You killed him, but he's not dead?"

Dean grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the door. "Can't we talk about this upstairs? We're gonna wake up the whole neighborhood."

Sam yanked his arm away, glaring at Dean. "No, Dean, I'm not leaving this spot," he angrily jabbed his index finger toward the ground. "Not until you tell me what you mean by you killed him, but he's still alive."

"He made a wager . . . now let's get inside."

Dean turned, climbed the last few steps, and headed inside, knowing Sam would have no choice but to follow. He walked up the three flights of stairs to the third floor apartment, he and Sam shared, opened the door, and went in, leaving the door ajar for Sam. A few seconds later Dean heard it slam shut, but didn't turn to look at his brother.

"Should've told you." Dean hesitated, thinking of all the good reasons he had for keeping the secret, but knew Sam wouldn't understand any of them. "Wanted to protect you. And I swear to God I really thought he was dead. After six months had passed and he didn't come back like he said. . . . " Dean swung to look at Sam, knowing he'd inadvertently said more than he'd intended.

Sam stood, staring incredulously at him."You knew he was coming back for us." Dean heard the clear accusation in Sam's tone. Raking his hands through his hair, Sam turned his back on Dean. "So that day . . . and the beer bottles, and you wanting to celebrate . . . that was because he didn't do as he said he was going to?"

"No, Sammy, I did that for you. I couldn't stand to see you so broken anymore, and I had to do something. I'm telling you the truth, you gotta believe me."

"Yeah, but it just happened that you had your inspired idea almost exactly seven months to the day after Charlie supposedly died." Sam swung to look at Dean, his hazel eyes narrowing as his brows pulled together to form an angry line across his forehead. "How many times did he lie to us, Dean." He started tallying them on his fingers, "Let's see, there was Frankie, can't forget Frankie and how he died. Then there was me going out to God knows where to find Charlie, only to have him come after you instead." Forgetting about tallying the rest, Sam paced back and forth. "Not to mention him being a FBI profiler, or dressing as a doctor to get to me at the hospital."

"I get your point, Sam." Dean was about to say something else when his cell phone started ringing.

Both boys turned to stare at the phone sitting on the coffee table, both remembering that was how their hellish ordeal with Charlie began the last time.

"Don't answer it, Dean," Sam said, the anger in his eyes now replaced with something akin to fear.

"Not gonna let him do this to us again." Dean stalked over to the table and snatched up the phone, and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, there, Dean," came Charlie's menacingly calm voice. "How's Sammyboy doing?" He paused for a moment, and Dean could hear him chuckling. "Stopped by to see him earlier tonight. He's looking good."

Dean's grip on the phone tightened as he turned his head to look at his brother. "You stay away from him. You hear me?"

"Oh, Dean, you don't have to worry about Sammy just yet, I've got other people to take care of first."

"What the hell are you talkin' about, you sonuvabitch."

"Ah, I missed hearing that . . . kinda seems like old times doesn't it?" Charlie laughed. "You calling me a sonuvabitch, me killing people to get to you. Good times, Dean, wouldn't you agree?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"Closer than you think. Got a friend of yours by the way. A detective Diana Ballard . . . you remember her, don't you?" Charlie was quiet again, and Dean could hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing in the background. "She'd come to the phone, Dean, but I'm afraid she'd tied up right now."

"Don't you hurt her," Dean growled, his hand trembling from holding the phone so tight. "Or I swear to God, it will be the last thing you do."

"Oh, you do remember her," Charlie said, mockingly. "Yeah, she helped you, and now it's time for her to pay for interfering in our little game." Charlie drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it. When he spoke again, all traces of humor disappeared from his tone. "In fact, I think I'm going to kill everyone who's helped you, talked to you, or sheltered you over the past year. Have a good night's sleep, Dean — It will be you last."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Well, first chapter...hope it didn't disappoint!! thanks for reading!! Diana Ballard was a character in Usual Suspects..._


	2. Chapter 2

_okay, chappy two and i got to admit it is kinda gruesome...but those who know Charlie already knew it would be!! thanks for reading!! hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

"Do you know what the word Abiuro means, Diana?" Charlie uttered softly as he slowly circled her. He grabbed hold of a clump of her long brown hair and kneaded through his fingers. She visibly flinched as he brought it up to his nose and breathed in deeply. "No, well don't worry about it, not too many people would."

He let go of Diana's hair, and ran his fingers along the length of her face. "It means, I recant." He cocked a brow, a slow grin spreading across his features. "Why am I telling you this?" He hesitated as if waiting for her to respond, and smiled. "Well, I have a real passion for old school torture." Charlie gestured to the collar wrapped around her neck with two dagger-sharp prongs buried deep in the hollow of her chin with two more embedded in her sternum. Diana was forced to tilt her head back sharply so as not to become impaled on its sharp tines. "It's called a Heretic's Fork, and back in the day, they wrote Abiuro on the side of every one they made."

Charlie wrapped his hand around the thin metal bar connecting the two sets of sharpened prongs, and jerked downward, and Diana screamed, tears spilling from her eyes, as the daggers pierced her chest, blood dripping from the wounds. "Only problem with this torture device, is that it wasn't really meant to kill, only meant to make a person recant their sins. The prongs just weren't sharp enough . . . I fixed that oversight on their part." He chuckled.

"Why?" was all Diana could manage to utter, more tears slipping down her cheeks.

Charlie shrugged, and smiled. "You helped them. You're gonna die because Dean asked for your help. It's all his fault."

"You sonuvabitch."

Smirking, Charlie grabbed hold of the chains secured to the ceiling, and forcefully yanked upward on them, stretching Diana's arms even higher over her head into the air. He abruptly let go and her head jerked forward, the prongs digging even deeper into her chin. Blood seeped down her neck and slowly covered her blouse.

"Think I like it better when Dean calls me that . . . just the inflection in his tone, it always sounds like he really means it."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam sat on his bed with his laptop resting on his thighs. Every once in a while, he'd look in Dean's direction, scowl, then lower his head again to continue his research. He hadn't spoken more than two words to Dean since hearing what Charlie had said on the phone, and it was really starting to rub Dean's nerves raw.

"Sammy."

Glancing at him, Sam shook his head and returned his attention to the computer. "Not now, Dean, have to try and figure out where he is before anyone else dies."

"Find anything?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No. Did you really think I would?" He was quiet for a moment, and then added, "Well, not about where he might be anyway. Found out a whole helluva lot about what he's been doing over the past year."

Dean could hear the quiet anger in Sam's tone, and could see it in his brother's rigid posture, but after his initial reaction to hearing Charlie was alive, Sam hadn't spoken another word of blame toward Dean.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean strode to Sam's bed and plopped down beside him. "I was trying to protect you."

"I know you were." Sam turned the computer screen in Dean's direction, and jabbed his finger at it. "But, all these people — every single goddamn one, died because of us."

Dean eyed the extensive list of doctors and nurses who had taken care of them while at the hospital, recognizing several of the names. Doctor Baker, who had revived Sam. Dr Winestaff the surgeon who had performed surgery on Sam their first night in the hospital. Marlene Shiftler, who had taken Dean to see Sam after his grafting surgery. Officers Connor and Edmundston, who had questioned Dean about the attack. The list went on and on, the names starting to blur together the longer Dean stared at them.

"Pulled up all their autopsy records too, Dean. Every single one of them is exactly the same." His fingers danced across the keyboard in a flurry, and another screen popped up. "Tell me if this sounds familiar. Doctor Kathleen Baker, four third degree burns wounds to chest and abdomen, knife lacerations to neck, chest and stomach. Four deep penetrating wounds running laterally across the side and stomach." He paused, and looked up at Dean, tears glistening in his hazel eyes. "Christ, it's like he was killing me over and over again." Sam threw the laptop aside, and angrily swiped away the tears from his cheek. "They're all dead because of me."

"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulder, trying to comfort his brother, but Sam pushed it away and stood.

"No, Dean?" Sam glared at him. "Then who's fault is it . . . God, the only difference between all those people and me is that they all had one finger cut off."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then lowered his head, letting out a deep broken-hearted sigh. "My fault . . . but I swear to you, I really thought he was dead."

"Right, because he didn't come back in six months to finish us off like he said." Shaking his head in aggravation, Sam gestured toward the computer. "Looks like he was busy elsewhere."

"What more can I say?" Dean stood, and turned his back on Sam. "Already said it was my fault . . . would it make you feel better if I told you I wish it were me instead of all those people — cause I swear to God, I wish it was." Dean swung to look at his brother, and shook his head. "But, I'm not sorry for what I did — I'm not. I did it to protect you, and I'd do it again if I had to."

"I wasn't blaming you." Sam laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, but he shrugged it away.

"Weren't you?"

"Whatever I said, I never meant to imply it was your fault."

"It's in your eyes, Sammy, you didn't have to say a word." Dean grabbed his leather jacket off the chair, and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder. "We got work to do, Sam."

Dean hesitated, leaning against the door frame. "I called Diana . . . an' now he's got her." Rubbing his eyes with thumb and index finger, Dean drew in a staggering breath, then continued, "Don't know how to find her . . . and she gonna die . . . and God knows how many others will . . . and I don't know how to protect them all."

"Dean — " Sam began, only to have Dean cut him off.

"Doctor Baker . . . she saved your life." Dean inclined his head, staring at the ceiling as he fought back the tears stinging at his eyes. "And all those people who helped you when I didn't know how — how the hell am I supposed to live with that, Sammy?" Lowering his head, Dean slowly walked away.

Sam stood watching his brother's retreating form, and frowned, biting at his lower lip. _God, I didn't mean it, Dean. I really didn't. I know you were only trying to protect me . . . and I really needed you to do that. I couldn't have gotten this far without you._

Remembering his dream, Sam's stomach lurched violently. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. _What if it wasn't a nightmare? _In his mind, Sam relived the horror of seeing his brother's face torn apart by Charlie, and the look in Dean's dull greens eyes as they slid closed in death. _I won't let that happen to you, Dean._

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You know," Charlie began tauntingly, as he eyed Diana. "I have a lot to thank Dean for, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be able to do this." He stared deeply into her brown eyes, and against her will, Diana's head slowly lowered. She trembled vilolently as the deadly prongs of the Heretic's Fork pierced through the soft flesh of her chin, sliced through her tongue, and came to rest at the roof of her mouth. Diana tried to scream but the sound of it was choked off as blood rushed down her throat.

He winked at her, a wicked smile settling on his dark features. "Kind of a cool little trick, don't you think?" His grin slowly faded as he continued to look at her, his brows pulling together into a deep frown. "Only thing is, I've always considered myself a hands on type of guy."

Charlie tilted his head to the side, to look beyond her at a table full of gruesome weapons. "The others, well, they were just to make a point. And if I know Sammyboy, and I think I do, he's already been on that laptop of his, and is now blaming himself for all their deaths. So why limit myself?"

Stalking to the table, he snatched a curved steel instrument, shaped almost like a small boomerang with scalpel-sharp inner blades, and a large screw for clamping it closed on the outside. "Never used this before, usually only cut off one finger . . . kinda my thing, ya know. But ah, what the hell."

Charlie strode back to Diana, and grabbed her hand. Yanking her fingers through the scissor-like weapon, Charlie slowly twisted the screw, severing through each of her bones with several sickening cracks, each finger dropping to the cold cement floor. Diana screamed, forcing the dagger-like tines further through the roof of her mouth.

Glancing down at the weapon, Charlie smiled. "You know what, Diana? These things are pretty damn cool." He chuckled. "Only thing that would've made it better was if Dean could hear what he's done to you." Charlie reached in his pocket, pulled out his phone and jabbed the button to call Dean. "Yeah, think he would really appreciate this."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean was sitting in the Impala waiting for Sam to come outside, when he heard his phone ringing. He snatched it out of his pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and grimaced. He brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. _Not again . . . I can't do this again. Why couldn't he have just died?_

He stabbed at the button angrily, answering the call. "Hello," he growled into the phone.

"Is that any way to answer your phone, Dean?" Charlie chided. "Almost makes me think you aren't happy to hear my voice."

"You sonuvabitch . . . you killed all those people." Dean's stomach clenched as he heard Diana's muffled sobs in the background. "Why not just finish it with us?"

"Because they all helped you . . . and well, if truth be known, Dean, you really pissed me off." Charlie's tone turned deadly calm. "Trying to get the Yellow-Eyed Demon to kill me, not a very smart move on your part."

"Wish he had killed you, and dragged your ass back to hell where you belong."

"Awww . . . Dean, you actually sounded as if you meant that."

"Never meant anything more in my entire life."

Charlie was quiet for a moment, and then Dean heard him laugh. "Such hostility, Dean, and here all I was trying to do, was to call and let you say goodbye to your friend Diana."

"Don't you hurt her, you sick sonuvabitch."

"Too late. . . ."

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, holding his breath as he heard Diana's screams grow louder, and then abruptly fade away. _Oh God, I'm so sorry, Diana . . . so goddamn sorry. _

Within a few moments, Charlie returned to the phone, and sighed contentedly. "Don't you just love hearing people die, Dean. Somehow it just makes a person feel more alive. Wouldn't you agree?"

Dean stared blankly out the front windshield of the Impala at his brother slowly making his way toward the car. Tears rimmed his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he wondered how to tell Sam he'd heard Diana die. _Oh God, what the hell did I do? All these people dead because of me . . . how the hell am I supposed to deal with that?_

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with . . . don't hurt anyone else," Dean uttered, almost pleadingly. "They didn't do anything to you."

"Awww. . . Dean, where would be the fun in that — the only question now is who to kill next?"


	3. Chapter 3

_So chappy three...hopefully everyone enjoys!! thanks for reading!! let me know what you think!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

Sam stopped in his steps as he noticed Dean lean over the steering wheel, and rest his head on folded arms. Dean's body trembled slightly as he gripped onto his short scruffy hair, and shook his head back and forth repeatedly. In that moment, the strength his brother had always exuded was stripped away, and Sam saw a broken man.

_It's not your fault, Dean. You couldn't have known what Charlie would do. _Trudging to the Impala, Sam leaned against the trunk, and lowered his head, ashamed that he'd played a part in breaking his brother's spirit. _How am I supposed to make this right? How the hell do I make him see that all those people's deaths weren't his fault? _

Mindless of the rainwater soaking into his jeans, Sam closed his eyes and waited, giving Dean the time he needed to pull himself together. He'd been sitting there close to five minutes when he finally heard the car door open and then shut. Turning his head, Sam saw Dean heading in his direction. His brother clutched onto his left hand with his right, rubbing his palm with his thumb as he stared at it.

Dean stopped when he was within a few feet of Sam, and glanced up at him. He was silent for a moment, and Sam could tell he was close to losing whatever restraint he held over himself. When he finally spoke, Dean's voice was strained and thick with emotion.

"When he broke my hand, and then my wrist," Dean lowered his head to look at his palm again, "I thought, this is okay, because I can still kill him with just my right hand if I have to. And I did."

"Dean, you don't have to — "

"Yeah, I do." Dean swallowed hard, then continued, "I wanted him to die, Sammy. Wanted it more than anything. Then I went back while you were having surgery to salt and burn his remains, but he wasn't there."

"The wager."

Dean nodded. "But, I did find a body . . . . just not the one I expected. So it is my fault. I knew he'd already killed again, but I left."

"Not you fault." Sam shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. "You were hurt — "

"Doesn't make a difference, Sammy." He looked up at Sam, and Sam saw a sad, hollowness in his brother's green-eyed depths that he'd never seen before, and it terrified him. "Shouldn't have left without knowing for sure." With head hung low, Dean turned his back on Sam. "An' I can't fix it . . . can't bring all those people back — they didn't deserve this, Sammy."

Sam glanced down at his chest, thinking about all the scars covering it. He then looked at Dean, knowing that Charlie had done nearly as much damage to him as well. But, it wasn't the physical scars destroying his brother. Charlie knew all the right buttons to push to break Dean, and he was doing his best to make sure Dean suffered to the fullest. "I know they didn't . . . but, neither did we. It's not our fault."

"Can't do this again, Sammy." Dean was as close to tears as Sam had ever seen him, his lips pressed firmly against his teeth, eyes brimming with unspent tears. "I watched Frankie die, and then saw what he did to you . . . and now I heard him kill Diana." He brusquely raked his fingers through his hair as he kicked at a stray stone on the ground with the tip of his boot. "Don't know how much more I can take."

Sam nodded in understanding. _Don't think I can do this again either, but what choice do we have?_ "We can blame ourselves, but it isn't gonna make things better — making sure the sonuvabitch is dead for good this time will."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Charlie leaned against the hood of his dark blue sedan, with arms folded, staring into the window of a small grocery store. His gaze briefly lit upon a young girl with long blonde hair, and then he turned his head to look at the man sitting beside him.

"Why her?"

The man's yellow-eyed gaze never strayed from the girl as he said, "Because she is insignificant."

"Not sure I follow." Leaning back further onto the hood of the car, Charlie crossed his legs, and his gaze once again settled on the girl.

"Think of a splinter. If you dig it out, but leave even the tiniest piece of wood under the skin, it will fester, and gnaw at you." He gestured toward the girl. "She is that tiny sliver of wood as she was no more than a passing thought to the boys."

Charlie scrubbed his hand across his stubbled jaw, contemplating what the Yellow-Eyed Demon had said. "Makes sense, but have to wonder why you're helping me."

The demon shrugged, his eyes flashing golden in the sunlight. "Figure I won't lose no matter how things turn out."

"Then maybe we should up the wager."

Cocking a brow, the demon chuckled. "What do you have in mind?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean slid into the front seat of the Impala, and shut the door. Putting the key in the ignition, he hesitated, not sure where they should go first. He scrubbed his hand across his face then brusquely ran his fingers through his hair as he thought of all the people Charlie could chose to go after next. _Who do we protect? Dr. Lee? Jake and his wife? Ms. Burkitts? Or all the freakin' physical therapists who've helped us over the past year? God, it could be any of them._

"So where do we start, Sammy?" Dean stared at the three story home, they shared with Ms. Burkitts. "I mean can we even leave here? If we do, he could come after Ms. Burkitts."

"But he could go after Jake, Dean." Sam swallowed hard as he gave Dean a quick sidelong glance, and Dean knew what Sam was going to say before the words even left his brother's mouth. "Maybe . . . Maybe, I should stay here."

Dean shook his head emphatically. "No way I'm leavin you here alone," he said, and before Sam was able to hide it, Dean saw the look of relief wash over his features.

"Dean, someone's got to stay — "

"I said, no. The last time we got separated . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off, recalling his brother's screams as Charlie burned his chest repeatedly with the hot poker, and Dean's stomach clenched. "No, we're sticking together, no matter what."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, and then groaned, clutching the sides of his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam pressed his fingertips into them.

"Sam?" Dean reached over and wrapped his arm protectively around his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, what is it . . . a vision?"

"Oh . . . Gaw . . . Damn it," Sam cried out, digging his fingers even further into his eyelids. His body trembled as sweat slipped down his forehead.

"What do you see, Sammy?"

"Charlie . . . demon." Taking a slow staggering breath, Sam turned to stare at Dean through squinted eyes, a look of pained confusion on his face. "Blood . . . lots of blood . . . and rose petals . . . don't understand . . . they're scattering in the wind."

"Rose petals?" Dean thought about it for a moment, trying to figure out why that should sound so familiar, and then his brows pulled together as deep scowl creased his forehead. "That sonuvabitch."

"Know what it means?" Sam shook his head, trying to rid himself of the painful vision.

"Yeah, I know what it means." Dean turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He sped out of the driveway, almost hitting into the car driving down the street. The vehicle swerved to the shoulder of the road as the driver blared his horn at Dean.

Sam turned in his seat to stare at Dean. "Gonna tell me?"

Dean's grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles whitening. Casting a sidelong glance in his brother's direction, he shook his head in disgust. "It means, that when he said anyone, he literally meant anyone."

"Still don't follow."

Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, Dean blew through a fourway crossing, forcing two more cars off to the curb. Both drivers blared their horns, but Dean didn't slow up any. "That girl . . . the day we were at the store, and I bought her flowers."

"You sure?" Sam's lower jaw quivered as he turned his head to look out the front windshield again.

"Yeah. God, Sammy she's gonna die cause I bought her flowers."

"We don't know that for sure, Dean." Sam tried to reason, but Dean could tell by the look in his hazel eyes that even he didn't believe what he was saying.

Dean's stomach churned as he thought of the day he'd bought the girl flowers because a man she'd been cashing out at her register had given her an extremely hard time. She'd remained calm and even smiled as he cursed at her, and Dean felt she deserved something for not slamming her tiny fist in the jerk's face. _If I'd just . . . this is all my fault. God, why the hell did I buy her flowers?_

That had been such a good day, the first in a long time. He remembered the look on Sam's face when one of his bullets finally hit the target, after he'd been trying for so long. He'd turned to Dean, and Dean saw his brother's hazel eyes were alight with hope and determination. Sam had brushed aside the sweat that glistened on his forehead with the back of his hand as a lop-sided grin lit across his boyish features, and in that moment, Dean believed that they were going to be okay. He actually believed they could get beyond what Charlie had done to them.

_Thought I had you back, Sammy . . . thought he was gone. I really did. Seven months. _Dean raked his fingers through his hair as he thought of Charlie's promise to come back and finish them off. Keeping his gaze trained on the road, his vision blurred as unspent tears stung at his eyes._ Seven freakin months had past._ _Damn it, you said six . . . why the hell did I believe you?_

"Why the hell did I buy her flowers?" Dean asked the question aloud that had been running through his mind since Sam told him about the vision. "How could've I been stupid? Can't kill evil, it always comes back. Always. I should know that by now."

"Dean, you were being nice. You couldn't have known," Sam said, in a quiet reassuring tone, but it did little to comfort Dean.

"Didn't I, Sammy? Hell, we live and breathe evil everyday of our goddamn lives, if anyone should've known, it should've been me."

Making a quick left into the parking lot of Martin's grocery store, Dean noticed a trail of red and white rose petals on the ground leading away from a red Cavalier. The driver's side door was left slightly ajar, and as Dean pulled up to the car he saw a bag of groceries spilled all over the asphalt.

"Dean." Sam smacked his brother on the arm, and pointed at two men in the front seat of a dark blue sedan, speeding out of the parking lot. "That's them."

Dean glanced up, and saw the car just as it disappeared behind a long hedgerow. Hitting the gas pedal, Dean made a sharp left around a row of parked cars, and peeled out of the lot, determined not to lose Charlie on the busy street.

Charlie made a quick turn onto Route Five and headed North, expertly maneuvering in and out between traffic. Unwilling to lose him, Dean veered out into oncoming traffic, speeding up to pass two cars, before he swerved back into his own lane. After an eighteen-wheeler passed by, Dean veered back out into traffic again, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roaring loudly as they gained on Charlie and the demon.

"Dean! Truck." Sam grabbed hold of the dashboard as Dean swerved back to the right, narrowly missing the back end of the large black pickup truck. "Slow up, Dean, we can't help her, if we get killed."

Shaking his head, Dean's gaze never strayed from the sight of Charlie's car. "Not gonna let that sonuvabitch get away this time."

Just as the words left Dean's mouth, he heard Charlie's taunting voice inside his mind. _Not ready for you yet, Dean. Still have much to do. _

Dean heard a sharp bang as the right tire blew and the Impala lurched toward the curb. He turned the wheel with practiced ease, letting up on the gas pedal, and lightly stepping on the brakes. Straightening out of the skid, he pulled toward the shoulder of the road. Several cars, trucks and a motorcycle came to a screeching halt behind them, car horns blasting.

He quickly turned to check on Sam. His brother looked a little shaken up, but otherwise, Dean couldn't find anything wrong with him. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah. You?"

"M'okay." Without saying another word, Dean reached into the glove compartment, and snatched a fake police badge out of it. Opening the door, he leapt out, and slammed it behind him. He stalked to the motorcyclist, and showed the badge. "Get off the bike," he ordered. When the young man didn't immediately comply, he added, "Get off the damn motorcycle now or I'll arrest you for obstructing justice."

Reluctantly, the young man got off his sleek black and red Suzuki GSXR 1000, took off his helmet, and handed it to Dean. "You mess up my bike, and I'll sue," he warned, scowling at Dean.

Pulling the helmet over his head and securing the strap under his chin, Dean shrugged. "Go ahead. Won't do you any good, but you can try."

Dean straddled the bike, gripped onto the handgrips, and looked in the mirror to make sure no one was coming. Holding down the clutch with his left hand, he pressed the down on the shifter with his left foot. Slowly letting off on the clutch, he twisted the throttle and pulled out into oncoming traffic, and quickly picked up speed.

Staying to the left, he wove in and out of traffic, hastily eating up the miles he'd lost when the Impala blew a tire. In the distance, Dean saw Charlie's car, and picked up speed, not wanting to lose sight of him again. Closing the gap between them, Dean pulled alongside Charlie's sedan. He glanced in the backseat and saw a young girl lying unconscious, her tangled blonde hair covering her face, blood seeping from a deep gash on her forehead .

_Not gonna let you hurt her, you sonuvabitch._ _This time you die for good._

Noticing Dean, Charlie grinned and glanced down at the tire of the Suzuki. _Bravo, Dean, didn't think you would follow . . . too bad for you_ _that you did. _

As Dean heard Charlie's voice inside his head again, his back tire began to wobble uncontrollably, sending the motorcycle skidding sideways. Dean pressed down on the front and back brakes as he tried his best to control the vehicle. In the split second that Dean realized he was going to crash, he veered off to the shoulder of the road, and slid sideways onto the grass. Thrown to the ground, Dean watched helplessly as the Suzuki turned end over end, and landed in a crumpled heap several yards away.

He looked up just in time to see Charlie's car slow and turn off onto another road, then it disappeared from view completely. _No. I had him . . . I had him. He can't get away. _Ripping off his helmet, Dean thought of the girl he'd seen in the back seat. _Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I tried. I tried so freakin hard. You can't die because of me . . .you just can't._


	4. Chapter 4

_new chappy...hope everyone enjoys!!! thanks for reading!! reviews are golden!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

Sam knelt beside the Impala, replacing the tire when a shadow fell over him. A darkly tanned man squat beside him, resting his elbows on his knees, and watched as Sam completed the task.

"Was gonna ask if ya needed help, but see ya got things under control," the man drawled, and a shiver ran up the length of Sam's spine. "Well, as far as the tire goes anyway." Before Sam could think to react, he was thrown up against the car, pinned to it by an unseen force. The man's eyes flashed a golden-yellow as he chuckled ominously. "As for Charlie, that's another matter entirely."

"What the hell do you want," Sam growled through clenched teeth, glaring at the demon. With taut muscles straining, he struggled to break free from the Yellow-Eyed Demon's invisible grip, to no avail.

"Made a wager with Charlie, figured no matter how it turned out, I wouldn't lose. But, he upped the stakes and now I'm kinda rooting for you, Sammy."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

The demon shrugged. "Really doesn't matter what you believe. See, if he wins, you and your brother both die. An' while I wouldn't mind seein' Dean six foot under with bugs eating at his flesh, I still have plans for you."

"Not gonna make a deal with you." Sam's lips quivered as he shook his head.

"A deal, no," a slow smile slid across his craggy features, "but maybe a wager of our own. One I don't think you can refuse under the circumstances." The demon trailed his finger down the length of Sam's horribly scarred chest. "Can make this all go away, Sammy. I know how badly it bothers you."

"I don't make deals or wagers with demons."

"Not even to save that poor girl's life." He stood and leaned against the car, crossing his arms across his expansive chest. "If I know your brother, and I think I do, it will kill him if she dies because of a simple kind gesture on his part."

_Damn it, he's right. Dean won't be able to live with himself if she dies. _"Let me go, and I'll consider it," Sam bargained as he tried to think of a way around the wager.

"Easy enough." The demon smiled as he gestured with his hand, and Sam slunk to the ground, released from the invisible force.

Sam scampered to his feet, moving to stand away from the demon. Legs spread slightly apart, and arms crossed, he glared defiantly at the demon. "What kinda wager?"

"Simple really. I release her, and as soon as you know she's safe, you take her place. You don't come, I win, and she dies and so do you and Dean. Not to mention all those people Charlie plans on killing."

"And if I win?" Sam asked not liking the sound of the wager in the least, but still wanted to hear him out.

"Then Dean lives and so does the girl."

"And me?"

"See that's where the wager gets a little sketchy. Part of my wager with Charlie involved me gettin you to come to him of your own free will without Dean knowing about it."

"And if I don't?" Sam swallowed hard as he tried to think of a way to turn things to his favor.

"You remember that vision you had of Dean dying don't you. That's what will happen to him if you don't." The demon pushed away from the car, and stood face to face with Sam, a cruel smirk twisting on his face. "I can make sure it doesn't happen."

"So, instead of Dean and the girl dying, I die, right?" Sam said, his voice strained as he spoke, knowing he couldn't allow his brother to die like he'd seen in his vision.

"Not if you're smart, Sammy. An' I'm countin' on you being very smart."

"And if I beat Charlie?"

"Then Dean lives, you live, and all the scars you and he both suffered at his hand will disappear as if they never happened."

"And if can't stop him?"

"Then I'll take care of him, and you give me your soul free and clear, no deals."

Sam's brows pulled together as he considered the terms of the wager. "If you help me, wouldn't that mean you lose the bet with him?"

"Loopholes, Sammy. Wouldn't have gotten where I am today if I wasn't smart enough to plan ahead."

Sam's mind raced to find his own loopholes in the wager. But without knowing what the original bet was, he had no real way of knowing how to beat both Charlie and the Yellow-Eyed Demon. _Okay, so I agree to this, find out what the original wager was and figure out a way to make sure they both lose. So not a good idea. But what choice do I have? Can't let Dean die like in my vision._

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Sam gave a curt nod. "Okay, but I want the girl brought, unharmed in anyway, to Jake's Auto Shop within the next two hours. If she is then I'll meet you tonight at Martin's grocery store after Dean's gone to sleep."

"Consider it done, Sammy." The demon extended his arm, and Sam shook his hand, sealing the wager between them.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Noticing the cars up ahead had come to a complete standstill, Sam pulled the Impala to the side of the road, and saw Dean sitting in the grass on the side of the road. Further down the stretch of road, he saw a motorcycle lying in a crumpled heap. Leaping out of the car, Sam darted to his brother, and dropped down beside of him. He quickly looked Dean over searching for injuries.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked worriedly as he saw Dean cradling his arm protectively.

"M'okay, Sammy. Just help me up so we can get outta here before the police show."

Sam got to his feet, and carefully helped Dean stand. Dean winced as Sam's arm brushed across his back, and Sam frowned."You're not okay, dude, we need to get you to Dr. Lee's."

"Said, I'm fine, Sammy. Not gonna risk her life for a few scraps and bruises. It's nothing a hot shower won't cure." Dean slowly limped to the car, and got in the passenger's side.

_Yeah, like hell you're fine. You'd never let me drive if you were. _Sam raced back to the car, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door. Looking over his shoulder, Sam backed up until he found enough room to do a quick u-turn. He threw the car in drive, turned and drove back toward town.

Taking a sidelong glance at his brother and noticing Dean leaning with his head against the window, eyes pinched tightly closed, face contorted in pain, Sam shook his head, and sighed deeply. "Dude, you need a doctor." He then returned his attention to the road ahead.

"Said, I'm not goin' to one," Dean muttered, without opening his eyes. "Already got Diana and that girl killed, can't let it happen again."

Sam's knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You don't know that she's dead yet, Dean. There might still be time to help her."

Dean let out a low groan as he shifted in his seat to face Sam. "How Sam? We don't know where she is. And even if we did, Charlie will probably kill her before we can get there."

Glancing at Dean, Sam shrugged, and then quickly looked ahead, not trusting in the fact that Dean was injured enough not to notice he was keeping a secret from him. "She could escape," he said carelessly, and immediately regretted it.

"Not likely, Sammy. Hell, we barely did."

"I'm just sayin' . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he felt the weight of Dean's green eyed gaze on him.

"Sam, what the hell did you do?"

"Nothin'."

Dean sat up in his seat, wincing as he did. "Charlie just wouldn't let someone escape. You know that." Dean's brows knit together, a scowl forming on his features. "Sam?"

"I swear, Dean. I didn't do anything." Sam searched his mind, trying to come up with a plausible reason for saying she might have escaped, and hit on the one thing Dean might actually believe. "Had a vision . . . Charlie and the Yellowed Demon were arguing . . . Don't know what about, but while they were she escaped unnoticed."

"A vision?" Dean eyed him suspiciously. "Your visions don't work that way, Sammy."

"Don't know what else to call it. It's what I saw."

Sam took a right onto the main road running through town, and then took a quick left into Jake's Auto Shop. Parking the car, he got out before Dean could question him further, and went around to the passenger's side to help his brother out of the car.

Dean slowly eased out of the car, wincing as his left foot came in contact with the ground. Clutching onto his left arm with his right, Dean held it protectively to his chest. He nearly stumbled, but Sam quickly caught him, and helped him inside the garage.

As soon as Jake saw them coming inside he rushed out from behind the counter, a worried expression crossing his features. "Dean, what the hell happened?"

"Had a little accident. Nothin to worry about." Dean eased into a chair, groaning as his back rubbed against the worn leather cushion. "M'fine."

Mopping his large hand across his thick graying beard, Jake looked from Dean to Sam. "You take him to see the Doc, Sam?"

"Won't let me take him." Sam knelt and took off Dean's boot and then his sock. He grimaced, noticing his brother's foot was slightly swollen and quickly turning black and blue. Gently prodding at Dean's ankle with his fingers, Sam felt for broken bones, and was relieved to discovered it was more than likely just a bad sprain. "Jake, could you get me the first aid kit?"

"Sure, Sam." Jake rushed to the small office behind the counter, and quickly returned, carrying the box of medical supplies. "Dean, Margaret's gonna have my head if you're hurt and I didn't get ya to see the Doc," he grumbled, as he knelt beside Sam and handed him an ace bandage. "I'll be sleepin' in the dog house with ol' Rex for a month. You know how she dotes on you two boys."

Dean chuckled despite the pain as Jake rambled on about his wife, and Dean had no doubt Margaret would do exactly as he'd said she would. "Tell her it was Sammy's fault. I'll back ya up, and then I can have all her delicious homemade apple pie to myself."

"Yeah, dude, like she would believe you. You know I'm her favorite." Sam finished wrapping Dean's foot, and motioned for Dean to take off his leather jacket.

"No way, dude, she adores me. Says I remind her of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause."

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, and Sam got his first good look at his brother's arm. Sam touched it gently, and Dean let out a low hiss of pain through gritted teeth. "More like rebel without a clue, Dean. Your freakin arm's broken. I'm takin' you to the doctors."

"Sam, I — " Dean was about to argue, but the sound of the door opening stopped him. Glancing up, his jaw dropped open as he stared incredulously at the young woman walking into the garage. After a moment, he turned to look at his brother, and noticed that Sam didn't seem the least bit surprised to see her, and that thought terrified him.

"Excuse me," the woman with long blonde hair called to them. She appeared confused, her dark blue eyed gaze darting back and forth as she took in the rundown garage. "This may seem strange, but I'm not sure how I got here." She hitched a thumb over her shoulder, and continued, "I was leaving work, and the next thing I know, I'm here. Not sure where my car is."

Looking her over from head to toe, searching for any injuries, Dean found nothing. _Damn it, I know she was bleeding. She had a gash on her forehead. Sammy, what the hell did you do? _"You okay? I mean, you're not hurt or anything?"

"No, I'm fine . . . well not fine, but not hurt." She glanced at Dean, a puzzled expression on her face. "I know you, don't I?"

"Nope, don't think so," Dean lied.

She studied him for a moment longer, and then a smile lit across her features. "Yeah, I do. You bought me flowers." Stepping around a toolbox on the ground, she headed straight for Dean, and stopped when she was only a few feet away from him. "I was having such a bad day, and then you came along. Thank you so much, that was so nice of you."

Dean looked at Sam, and his brother lowered his head so Dean couldn't see his eyes. Still staring at his brother, Dean replied, "Don't mention it."

Undaunted by his less than enthusiastic reply, she asked, "Is there any way you could give me a ride back to the grocery store to see if my car's there?"

"My brother was just about to take me to the doctors, but maybe Jake can drive you there."

Hearing that, Sam's head snapped back up, and before he could hide the look of fear in his eyes, Dean saw it. _I knew it. You made some sort of damn deal to save her. _"Jake can you take her?"

"Sure, just let me get my keys, darlin'. Won't take but a moment." Jake left and returned a few moments later carrying his car keys. "Sam lock up for me, an' get that boy to the Doc's."

"Sure, Jake." Sam nodded, and stood and went to get the keys to lock up.

After Jake and the girl had left, Dean turned to his brother. "She was bleeding."

Sam shuffled through the clutter on Jake's desk, purposely not looking in Dean's direction as he searched for the keys. "Huh, really, didn't notice."

"You know what I mean, Sam."

"No, I really don't. She looked fine to me." Snatching the keys from beneath a pile of invoices, Sam stalked to the front of the building and hit the button to lower both garage doors.

"What sort of damn deal did you make, Sammy?" Dean shot to his feet, wincing as pain raced up his sprained ankle, and limped to his brother. Grabbing hold of Sam's arm with his good hand, Dean forced his brother to face him. "I asked what kind of deal you made?"

Shrugging free of his grasp, Sam headed toward the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Didn't make a deal, Dean."

Dean nodded in understanding as he watched his brother walk out the door, and let it slam shut behind him. _So you made a wager. Damn it, Sammy, what the hell were you thinking?_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"What are the terms?" Dean asked, as he slid into the passenger's seat, and shut the door. When Sam refused to respond, Dean snatched the keys out of the ignition, and put them in his pocket. "We aren't going anywhere until you tell me."

"Give me the damn keys, Dean. Told you it was a vision," Sam said, without looking at Dean, and Dean detected a slight tremor in his brother's voice.

"We can figure a way out of it, Sammy."

Sam outstretched his arm, and Dean noticed his hand was trembling. "The keys."

_Okay, so whatever this wager is, you are absolutely terrified by it. Damn it, Sammy why won't you just tell me so we can figure it out together? _Reluctantly, Dean yanked the keys out of his pocket, and dropped them into Sam's hand. Sam started the car, pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Doctor Lee's clinic.

"Not gonna let you do this, Sam. Not gonna let you risk your life on a damn wager."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but didn't respond. Dean abruptly realized that whatever arrangement his brother had made with the demon, he couldn't talk about or he would lose the wager. _Okay, Sammy, whatever wager you made, I'll figure it out myself. But, I'll be damned if I let you out of my sight for even a moment until I do. _

They drove the rest of the way to the clinic in silence, and when they got there, Sam veered the car to the shoulder of the road and parked. He got out and went around to help Dean. Opening Dean's door, Sam waited for Dean to slide out. Sam closed the door, and then carefully wrapped his arm around Dean's waist to support his weight, and take pressure off of his injured foot.

Dr. Lee met them at the entrance of the clinic. Her smile turned to a frown when she saw Dean limping. "What happened, Dean?" She rushed to his side, and hooked her arm around his back, and Dean arched forward, wincing.

"He was in an accident, Doc," Sam quickly supplied. "Dean didn't want to come here, but his arm is broken, and I can't fix it."

"Why wouldn't he want to come here?" she asked as she led them to an exam room, and motioned for Dean to sit on the examination table. "Sam?" she prompted when Sam didn't respond, concern clearly etched in her deep brown eyes.

"He's back, Doc," Sam said reluctantly. "Charlie."

"Thought you said he was dead?" Dr. Lee asked in confusion, her worried look turning to one of fear.

"I thought he was, but he's already killed again, and Dean didn't want to risk your life."

Dr. Lee nodded in understanding. "So you think he's gonna come after me then?"

"Yeah," Dean said, not quite meeting her frightened gaze. "Look, Doc, I didn't want to come here. Couldn't stand it if anything happened to you after all you've done for us."

"We'll worry about that after I exam you, Dean, now take your shirt off so I can get a look at your back." Dr. Lee moved to stand behind Dean, and Sam followed.

Dean slowly complied, grimacing as he lifted his t-shirt over his head, and let it drop to the table. Sam frowned seeing his brother's back. A thin layer of skin had been sheered off of the lower section, and it was red and glistening. Bits of debris and stones pockmarked the wound.

Grabbing a pair of latex gloves, Dr. Lee put them on, and carefully examined his back. "Don't think there's any significant injury, but I'll want to take an x-ray to make sure." Dr. Lee strode to a medical supply cabinet and grabbed a syringe and a bottle of clear liquid. Filling the syringe, she brought both back to the table. "Sam can you get me some gauze pads out of the cabinet? I have to abrade the wound so it doesn't get infected."

"Sure, Doc." Sam quickly complied, and Dr. Lee set to work, removing bits of stone and dirt from Dean's back.

"Son of a — " Dean winced, arching his spine as she continued to irrigated the wound.

When she was finished cleaning the injury, she covered the wound with a clean dressing and attached it with adhesive tape. "Now lets get some x-rays, and then I want to do a complete exam to make sure there are no other significant underlying injuries. Sam, you mind waiting outside for a bit?"

"No." Sam turned to leave, but Dean's hand shot out and grabbed hold of his wrist. His grip tightened as Sam tried to break free.

"You're not going anywhere, Sammy."

"Dude, I'm just gonna be in the waiting room." When he saw the look of distrust in his brother's green eyes, Sam added, "I swear, Dean, I'm not going anywhere."

After a few moments, Dean reluctantly let go of Sam's wrist. "You better damn well be sitting in the waiting room when I get out."

"I promise, Dean."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

A little over an hour later, Dean and Dr. Lee emerged from the exam room. Dean's left arm was in a cast, but otherwise, he looked a lot better than he had. Relief was evident in his green eyes as he saw Sam sitting near the window waiting for him.

"So, Doc, how is he?" Sam leapt to his feet, and rushed over to them.

"Everything looks good, Sam. He fractured his radius bone, but it isn't a significant break and should heal nicely."

"And his foot?"

"Just a bad sprain like you thought. He should try and keep off it for the next few days so it can heal."

"Tell him that."

"Already did, but he said it's not gonna happen." Dr. Lee smiled, and shook her head. "So, I'm telling you. Maybe you can talk some sense into him." She handed Sam a bottle of pills. "This is a mild pain reliever, give him two of them every four hours, and I want him to come back in a week so I can check on his injuries."

Sam pocketed the bottle of pills, and nodded at her instructions. "Thanks, Doc."

"You're not gonna be here in a week, Doc," Dean said, turning to look her in the eyes. "You're packing up, and getting the hell out of here until Charlie is gone for good."

"Dean, I can't leave. I have patients who need me."

"He'll kill you, Doc," Dean tried to protest, but she wouldn't listen.

"Not leaving, Dean. I didn't go after that virus struck town, and I'm not leaving because of Charlie."

Realizing her mind was made up, Dean conceded. "You'll give us a call if you have even the slightest feeling that you're being followed or watched?"

"Yeah. Now go home and get some rest." She smiled, and walked them to the door. "Sam, take care of him."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam helped Dean onto their couch, and then headed to the kitchen to get him a drink of water to take the pills Dr. Lee had prescribed. A few moments later he returned, and handed the glass and the pills to Dean, and watched as he took them and swallowed down all the water in the cup.

"You should get some sleep, dude," Sam said, as he sank into an overstuffed reclining chair directly opposite the couch, and tapped his fingers nervously on the armrest.

Dean watched as Sam eyed the clock above the mantle every couple of minutes. "Have somewhere to be, Sammy?"

"No. Why?" Sam replied, and Dean could hear the hint of guilt in the tone of his voice.

"You just seem in a hurry for me to go to sleep."

"Just want you to get some rest like Dr. Lee said."

"Don't plan on sleeping for a while, dude." Dean blinked hard, and shook his head, his mind quickly fogging over from the effects of the pills. "Damn, thought she said these were just — " He glanced up at Sam and saw an undeniable look of remorse in his hazel eyes. "Sam, what the hell did you do?"

"Sorry, Dean, but you didn't leave me a choice." Tears shimmered in Sam's eyes as he stood, and strode away from Dean. "You would've followed, and then you'd die . . . I can't let you die like how I saw in my vision . . . I just can't."

"You traded your life for hers, didn't you?" When Sam didn't respond, he shouted, "Didn't you?"

"Hers and yours." Sam gathered his weapons, tucking his .45 in his waistband, and holstered his knife in the sheath attached to his belt. "It was the only way to save you both."

Dean stumbled off the couch, his legs feeling thick and useless. "Sammy, don't you do this. Don't you leave me here."

"Gave you enough sedatives so you'll sleep for the next few hours."

Dean trudged to him, and weakly grasped onto his brother's arm, but Sam shrugged free. "There's got to be another way. I'm beggin' you not to do this."

"If I don't go, I lose the wager. If you follow, I lose. There isn't another way, Dean."

Dean's knees buckled and he crashed to the floor. Glancing up at his brother through bleary eyes, Dean saw him heading for the door. "Christ, Sammy, you're setting yourself up to die. Please, just tell me where you're goin'." Trying to focus on his brother, Dean's eyes slid closed and then slowly opened. "Please, Sam."

Opening the door, Sam hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't know where I'm going, Dean. Just know where I'm meeting the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"Where . . . just tell me where . . . and I swear to God, I'll find you and save you from this."

"Can't, Dean." He strode out the door, and quietly shut it behind him.

"Sam . . . Sammy!" Dean tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't work. Crawling to the door, the last of his strength gave out. "S-Sam . . . oh God, Sammy, don't do this . . . d-don't you leave me . . . ." Dean's eyes slid closed as he was engulfed in darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

_wow, another long chappy...this one kinda made my skin crawl...ah, maybe it's just me...thanks for reading!! let me know what you think!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

Dean's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked hard trying to adjust his vision to the darkened room. At first he couldn't figure out where he was or what was making his stomach twist so uncomfortably. His heart felt hollow, and ached with a deep sense of loss, but couldn't quite put a finger why it should feel that way.

He lifted his head off the floor and peered out into the darkness, squinting to get a better look around, and realized he was on the floor of his apartment. Slowly, he eased himself into a sitting position, and leaned against the door. A low groan escaped his lips when his back made contact with the smooth wooden surface.

"Sam?" he called out, his voice sounding low and hoarse to his own ears. Clearing his throat, Dean tried again, "Sammy?"

No response.

The sick feeling in Dean's stomach quickly spread through his entire body, and wreaked havoc on his already muddled mind. Reality struck him like the butt end of a rifle slamming into his face. Sam wasn't there. Had made a wager. Had drugged him and left without leaving so much a single clue as to where he was headed.

_If he doesn't go, he loses. If I follow, he loses. Damn, Sammy what the hell kinda wager is that? There's no freakin' way you can win. _

Bracing his uninjured hand against the wall, Dean slowly pushed himself to his feet, and headed for his cell phone sitting on the coffee table. He snatched it up, and scrolled down till he found Sam's number and hit the button. The phone rang and rang, and then the answering machine came on.

_Hey, this is Sam, can't get to the phone right, now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. _

Dean waited till he heard the beep and then said, "Sam, if you get this message . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of all the possible reasons why his brother couldn't answer the call. "Damn it, Sammy. Call me back."

He hung up, and threw the phone down on the couch, only to snap it back up a second later. Searching through the numbers on the list, Dean hit the second to last one, and waited till he heard someone pick up. Before he had a chance to speak, he heard a woman's voice.

"Dean, boy, been waitin' for your call all night," Missouri said in her usual breathy tone of voice."Been havin' bad feelin's all day about you boys."

"Sam's gone," Dean said, as he dropped down onto the couch, and raked his fingers through his scruffy hair, feeling at a total loss as to what he should do. "Made some kinda wager with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, an' I don't know how to find him."

"An' you thought I could help you?" Dean could hear the sadness in her voice, and could almost picture her smooth dark skin creased in a frown. "Told you before, honey, can't just pull facts outta thin air."

"Can't you at least try . . . if I don't find him, he's gonna die," Dean asked in desperation. "Don't you psychics have some sort of cosmic link or something?"

"I can try, Dean . . . no promises."

"At this point, I'll take whatever you can give me."

"Get something that belongs to him, hold onto it, and focus all your thoughts on him."

Dean eased off the couch, and limped to the bedroom he shared with Sam. Heading to his brother's dresser in the far corner of the room, Dean opened the second drawer and yanked out one of Sam's flannel shirts. Slowly, he plodded to the bed, and sank down on to it, holding the soft fabric firmly in his grasp. "Okay, got it."

Missouri was quiet for a few minutes and Dean tried to imagine how her visions worked. He'd seen his brother in the midst of his terrifying visions so often, saw how they'd drained him physically as well as emotionally, and worried if it did the same thing to her.

"You thinkin' about him, boy, cause I ain't gettin a clear picture," Missouri scolded, in her usual no nonsense way, and Dean couldn't help but smile. "Concentrate and give me somethin' to work with."

Dean thought of his brother leaving, the sadness and fear in his hazel eyes as he stood at the door. He then remembered the first time he'd seen Sam in the hospital after his surgery to repair the damage Charlie had inflicted with his brutality. And then came the recollection of the day when Dean saw a look of hope return to Sam's eyes as he struggled to relearn how to fire his gun.

"Can see him, Dean," Missouri said in a breathy rush. "He's in a small dark place.. . . and it's real warm . . . there's the scent of fear and sweat in the air. "

"He isn't . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he imagined his brother dying at the hands of Charlie.

"No, he's alive," she quickly reassured. "They're toying with him, Dean."

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever wager Sam made, it was a ruse."

"I don't understand?"

"He's underground . . . underground, and running out of time."

"Underground?" Dean swallowed hard, a shiver of fear racing up his spine. "As in buried alive?"

"I keep seeing stone angels . . . they don't want him to die yet . . . no, they want something from him . . . not sure what it is."

"Think I do."

"Well, you better hurry, honey. Not sure how long he's gonna hold it together."

"Thanks, Missouri."

Dean hung up, and hurried to the livingroom, snatched his car keys off the table, and headed for the door. Opening it, he came face to face with Jake and Margaret, both with looks of deep concern etched on their features.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"See you listened, Sammy." The Yellow-Eyed Demon's gaze darted back and forth searching for any signs of the older Winchester as he opened the passenger door of the dark blue sedan, and Sam reluctantly ducked inside. "Hate to think what would've happened to Dean or the girl if you hadn't kept your word."

"Said I'd come alone." Sam had trouble keeping the slight tremor out of his voice as he thought of where the demon was taking him. "I came alone, so you can leave them out of this."

"For now." The demon shut the door behind Sam, and Sam heard a click as it locked. Taking one last look around, the demon seemed satisfied that Dean wasn't going to show up, and strode to the driver's side and got in. After closing the door, he turned in his seat to stare at Sam. "Charlie wants to play a game, Sammy. You up for it?" He chuckled, his eyes burning golden in the darkness.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hate the guy, but I got to give him credit, he is damn clever," the demon said, as if he hadn't heard Sam's question. "Actually wished I'd thought of this."

Sam's stomached twisted, his heart hammering away inside his chest at the thought of what Charlie might do to him this time. Unconsciously, his hand went to his chest, and he felt the raised scars beneath the soft flannel. "Thought you wanted Charlie to lose?"

"True . . . but I want you to lose as well. Kinda would make me the winner all the way around, wouldn't it?"

"What game?" Sam asked, mentally kicking himself for not thinking that the demon would double cross him as well as Charlie.

"Hide and seek."

"Don't understand?" Fear welled up inside the youngest Winchester as he thought of what kind of torture a game like hide and seek could involve. Sweat prickled at his scalp as numerous possibilities came to mind.

"Was gonna say ghost in the graveyard, but you aren't really a ghost are you?"

"So, I hide and Charlie tries to find me?" Sam asked, trying to figure out the rules of the game. _Okay, I can do this. Dad and Dean taught me to blend into my surroundings to survive. Just have to make sure he doesn't find me, and I win. _

The Yellow-Eyed Demon grinned sardonically, flashing his pearly whites. "What fun would that be, Sammy?" He pursed his lips, shaking his head, the smile never fading from his features. "No, we hide you, and see just how long it takes your brother to find you. Course there would have to be a time limit . . . these things can't go on indefinitely."

"Dean?" Sam's hand slipped from his chest, and moved toward the lock on the door. "Thought you said he wouldn't be involved in this . . . said if I came alone — "

"No, Sam. Never actually said Dean wouldn't be involved. Just told you to come alone. You did and so now the game can begin."

_No freakin way am I letting you get your hands on Dean, you sonuvabitch. _Quickly grabbing the lock, Sam pushed it up, grasp onto the handle, and flung the door wide open. But before Sam had a chance to leap out, the demon clutched onto his arm, sending shockwave after shockwave of electrified pain coursing through Sam's body. Pain seared through his nerves, his body twitching and jerking erratically as the demon continued the onslaught. Sam's muscles flexed as if they had a will of their own, his fingers curling inward forming tight fists. Eyes rolling backward into his head, he quickly lost consciousness.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean pulled into Saint Angelica's Cemetery, and began searching through the numerous grave sites for a freshly dug one.

"You sure this is the right place, Dean?" Jake asked, and Dean could hear the concern for Sam in the older man's voice. "Can't afford to be wrong."

Dean hadn't wanted Jake to come along, had begged him and Margaret to leave town, but neither would listen to him. He could still hear the old man's words echoing in his mind. _Can't lose another child to evil. Losing Jason to the war in Iraq was enough. I won't lose Sam to this man, not while I still have a breath left in my old bones. _Margaret had nodded in agreement with her husband, and it was all Dean could do not to have her come along too.

"Yeah, Missouri said stone angels." He hitched a thumb back toward the entrance. "Figured she meant the two statues at the gate."

Jake looked over his shoulder at the large stone angels with green ivy sprawling over their wide fanning wings and then scrubbed his hand through his beard. "What was that boy thinkin'? Gonna have to knock some sense into him when we find him."

Dean couldn't help but smile at the older man who had taken it upon himself to become like a father figure to the boys once he'd heard that their father had died. When he'd learned of Sam injuries and saw how broken hearted the youngest Winchester was, he'd done everything in his power to make Sam feel comfortable, and for a while was the only one besides Dean who could actually make his younger brother smile, and Dean would be forever grateful for that. "Get in line, Jake. He answers to me first."

"There." Jake pointed out the window at a mound of dirt.

"Got one over on this side too."

"There's one over there under the trees, too, Dean." Jake looked from the two graves on his side of the road to the one on the opposite side, and then his steely gaze searched out Dean's. "Which one, Dean?"

Nervously tapping his ring on the steering wheel, Dean tried to imagine which one Charlie and the Yellow-Eyed Demon would bury his brother under. "The one under the willow tree."

"Why that one?" Jake asked as he got out of the Impala, and Dean followed.

"I'm just guessing . . . Christ, I don't know. Could be any one of the three."

"Okay, this is what we're gonna do," Jake said in a tone that could've rivaled John's authoritative voice. "You start diggin' that one up, an' I'm gonna go an' see if I can't find us a little help to get this done faster."

Dean opened the trunk and grabbed the shovels out, and slammed the lid. "What kinda help?" he asked warily. "Can't have anyone else risking their lives."

"Don't you worry your head about what kinda help, just get busy. Not gonna let anything happen to your brother."

"Thanks, Jake . . . you have — "

"Yeah, yeah . . . don't go given me no damn thank you. You know I can't stomach it," Jake grumbled as he slid behind the wheel of the Impala. Shutting the door, he did a quick u-turn and headed for the entrance.

Carrying the shovels in his good hand, Dean limped toward the grave under the weeping branches of the willow. _God, please let it be this one. It's got to be this one. _He threw the spare shovel on the ground, and began digging in the soft dirt. His left hand throbbed mercilessly as dug as quickly as he could, but realized with his injuries he wasn't going to be fast enough to save Sam's life.

Mindless of the pain working its way up his arm, he continued to shovel dirt off the mound. _Sam don't you die on me. I'm here. I'm gonna save you. _Sweat streamed down his forehead, and back, and he stopped only long enough to clear it from his eyes, then resumed digging. _You're gonna be okay . . . you have to be okay. _He repeated the mantra over and over again inside his mind as he continued the slow tedious work of uncovering the grave.

Hearing the low rumbling sound of a tractor heading his way, Dean glanced up and saw two headlights coming toward him. Jake skillfully maneuvered the vehicle around the graves and motioned for Dean to move out of the way. Lowering the bucket, Jake scooped out a load of dirt, and back away, dumping it on the ground. The tractor moved forward again, and Jake dropped the front loader and filled it with more dirt. Within a few minutes, the coffin was unearthed. Jake hopped out of the cab of the tractor and helped Dean down into the grave.

"This has to be the right one, Jake. It has to be." Dean glanced up at the older man looking for understanding, and Jake smiled reassuringly.

"It will be . . . if not we'll keep diggin' up all these damn graves till there are none left to dig."

Holding his breath, Dean dropped to his knees, and pried open the lid. He swallowed hard, snatching up a picture of Sam with eyes closed as he lay in a coffin. A note from Charlie sat beside the picture on the soft satin pillow. Dean grabbed it, pulled himself out of the grave, and headed toward the tractor so he could read it.

_Dean, _

_Figured you would pick this one first. One down, two more to go . . . or maybe Sammyboy isn't even in one of these graves at all. Guess you'll just have to try them all to find out. Better hurry, not sure how long he has left. _

_Two-Finger Charlie _

Handing the note to Jake, Dean slumped to the ground. Jake rested a firm hand on Dean's shoulder as he quickly scanned the letter. "Come on, Dean, we have more work to do," he said, his tone still strong and reassuring. "We'll get to him in time."

"He's not here, Jake."

"What do ya mean? He has to be." Jake crouched beside Dean, his dark gaze searching Dean's.

"It's another freakin game. We search all these damn graves and Sam runs out of time."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, as sure as I can be."

Jake nodded. "Okay, then here's what we have gotta do." He stood and headed for the cab of the tractor, calling back over his shoulder. "You go back to the Impala, and do what you have to do to find that psycho, and I'll dig up the rest of these damn graves. One way or another we're not letting Sam die."

Dean pushed himself to his feet, feeling as if his own father's guiding hand was somehow reaching out to him through Jake, and forcing Dean into hunter mode so he could do what needed to be done. "Thanks, Jake."

"Boy, get goin', an' don't let me hear you say thank you again . . . hear me . . . ," Jake grumbled on as Dean headed toward the entrance of the cemetery.

_Hold on, Sammy, I'm gonna find you. _

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and he grateful for the darkness, his head pounding so horribly he didn't think he could stomach the light. Slowly, he eased his head off the soft pillow it rested on to take in his surroundings, but stopped abruptly when his forehead collided with something solid.

Swallowing hard, he reached up and felt soft silky material above him. His hands trailed downward and felt the same thing at his sides and beneath him. His fingers touched on a familiar object, and he clutched hold of it.

_Just turn on the damn flashlight, Sammy. It's not what you think it is. It can't be. _

Flicking on the dim light, Sam stared in horror at the inside of the coffin. The faint beam of light played across the soft folds of the silky cream-colored material, and illuminated a note scrawled in Charlie's handwriting.

_Hey there, Sammyboy,_

_I certainly hope you aren't the type who is afraid of closed in spaces cause this would be a real bitch. _

_Right about now, I bet you are wondering just how far below the earth you are. Six foot under, Sammyboy. Kinda makes your skin crawl doesn't it? Six foot under in an air tight space . . . kinda just steals your breath away. I can almost hear your heartbeat quicken as you realize there is no way out. I just wish I could see your face as fear takes hold, and you realize there's nothing you can do except wait and hope Dean can find you in time._

_As you must know by now, I'm a betting man of sorts, but even I didn't make a wager on whether you would survive this or not. Think Dean can find you before you run out of air?_

_So you don't think I'm without a heart, I left you and oxygen tank. Who am I kidding, I really left it cause I'm not finished with you and Dean yet. Use it wisely, Sammyboy, never know how long it will take Dean to find you. _

_Two-Finger Charlie_

Fear gripped hold of Sam as he reread the note, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. _Okay, I can do this. I can do this. Dean's gonna find me . . . can't panic. Just gotta stay calm. Stay calm. _

The moments ticked by a cruel pace as Sam listened for any sign that some was trying to dig him out. The silence that met his ears was almost deafening, and Sam's ragged breath quickened, filling the void._ He's gonna find me. He has to find me. Dean wouldn't let me die down here. _

Sam nervously tapped his fingers against the flashlight, sending scattered faint beams of light showering over the metal oxygen tank resting between his legs. Sweat trickled down his neck, and dampened his shirt, the stifling heat in the small space almost unbearable. _He doesn't know where I am . . . hell, I drugged him . . . he may not even be awake yet. _

Several more minutes dragged by and Sam began to feel as if the small space was closing in around him. The walls of the coffin seemed to edge closer to his large frame as the air grew stale, and his breathing more labored. The scent of his own sweat lingering in what little air there was left. _What the hell did I do . . . he's lying unconscious on the ground at home . . . he's not coming . . . I'm gonna die down here. _

Wiping the sweat and tears from his eyes, Sam peered down and searched for the oxygen mask. _No, have to wait. Can't use it yet. Got to give Dean more time. Just have to breathe slower. He's gonna find me. _

Twitching, he felt something slither across his body, and crawl through his hair. He swatted his hand across his chest, and raked his hand through his hair, trying desperately to rid himself of whatever it was. _There's nothing in here. __I'm just imagining things. _Something scurried across his chest and he flashed his light on it, and saw a large cockroach. Several more crawled onto his stomach and headed toward his face. _Oh, shit! _He hurriedly swiped them off himself, cringing as he felt more cockroaches around his legs, but couldn't reach them. _Okay, they're just freakin bugs . . . just big freakin ugly bugs . . . big freakin ugly bugs that probably will eats my eyes when I die._

Giving up any pretense of calm, Sam slammed his fists against the coffin lid, scratching and clawing at it, screaming for anyone to hear him. He knew that all he was accomplishing by fighting against the coffin was to use up his limited air more rapidly, but he refused to give up without a fight.

"Dean! Get me the hell out of here!" Tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked as he realized no one could hear his pleas. Finally, he gave up, his hands falling loosely to his sides, his mind refusing to acknowledge the cockroaches crawling over them. "God, please don't let me die like this."

Sam took slow labored breaths as he took in his small tomb, fearing this would be the last place he would ever see. Fear gave way to self-anger as he thought of Dean. He knew his brother would find him too late, and blame himself when it was totally Sam's own fault. _God, Dean this isn't your fault. I was so freakin stupid. Just couldn't stand the thought of seeing you die. Would've done just about anything to stop it from happening._

Cockroaches slipped between his pantlegs and crawled up his legs. Sam tried to remain as still as possible, hoping they would scurry back out. Feeling them bite into his flesh, he flinched, and started kicking and screaming. The giant bugs scurried back down his legs, and disappeared in the thick folds of the creamy material of the coffin.

A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, and he knew his air supply was nearly at an end. _How much oxygen does an oxygen tank hold? One hour . . . two . . . thirty minutes? Got to give Dean enough time to find me. _Slowly, he reached down and found the mask, and turned on the oxygen, praying it would last long enough. Putting the mask to his face, he breathed in deeply of the fresh air.

The flashlight flickered and then dimmed even more, the narrow shaft of light reflecting on the tank. _Oh come on, don't do this. _The light slowly faded to an utter and complete darkness that was unlike anything Sam had ever experienced before. _No, no, no, no . . . come on, damn it. _Shaking the flashlight, he smacked it against his leg a few times, but nothing happened. _It's just the dark, Sam. You've been in the dark a million times, there's nothing to be worried about. Except for the fact that you're buried six feet underground in a coffin with cockroaches. _

Bugs slithered through his hair, one crawling down the side of his face, heading toward his right ear. Cringing, he dropped the flashlight and brusquely raked both hands through his shaggy hair, and across his face, knocking his oxygen mask away. "Get the hell off me damn . . . get off." He continued to mop his hands across his face even after the creatures had scurried away, back into hiding.

Forgetting the oxygen mask, Sam desperately pounded on the lid of the coffin with all his strength, tears falling freely from his eyes. "Dean! You gotta get me outta here . . . don't think I can take much more!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Don't really know about anyone else, but the thought of being trapped underground with large cockroaches crawling all over all the place really just made me cringe!!! _


	6. Chapter 6

_As promised to psiChic last night, anew chapter of Charlie!! Sorry about the delay, but have been really into writing, Your Mind Tricked You to Feel the Pain, and am now trying to play a little catch up!! thanks for reading!! reviews always make me write faster!! Bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

"I know why you have chosen these boys to torture," the Yellow-Eyed Demon said as he leaned back against an old maple tree. Kicking aside several shards of broken beer bottles scattered all across the ground, he glared at two old stone angels standing sentinel at the entrance of an old overgrown garden, and then at the mound of dirt nearby. "And I can't say as I blame you. But Sam is mine. Has been since the day he was born."

"That wasn't part of the wager." Charlie smirked, knowing that once the wager had been struck between them, the demon was bound to it. "Are you worried you'll lose again?"

"I didn't lose the first time, Charlie. I let you win."

The shocked surprise was evident on the man's face, and not one to let an opportunity go to waste, the demon added, "You really didn't think you were responsible for Dean giving into his feelings of rage and desire for revenge, did you?" He chuckled. "Revenge by its very nature makes it fall into my very special little corner of Hell. Dean acted on it because I goaded him into it, it had nothing to do with you."

"And seeing his brother sliced apart by me had nothing to do with?" Charlie sneered, not backing down or seeming the least bit intimidated by the powerful demon.

"Never said you weren't good at what you do. Just saying where revenge comes into play, that is all my doing." The demon pushed away from the tree, and stood eye to eye with Charlie. "It is how I found you, isn't it? The sins of the father and all that crap."

"Yeah, John's boys deserve to pay for what he did, and I'm not about to let you or anyone stop me from accomplishing what I set out to do. I've waited too long." Charlie turned his back on the demon, an act of outward defiance and a show of his own strength. "And when the time is right, and I have gotten what I want from you, then I'll kill them both, and no one, not even you, will be able to stop me."

"Careful playing with fire, Charlie, I've been at it a lot longer than you. Could have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve."

"Don't doubt that." Charlie swung to face him, his dark eyes glimmering with an unearthly gleam. "But then so do I."

"As long as we both know where we stand."

The Yellow-Eyed Demon crouched beside the grave, and raked his fingers through the soil. He breathed in deeply of the earthy scent of worms and dirt, a sardonic smile lingering on his face as he thought of the man trapped below ground.

"How much oxygen do you think he has left?"

Charlie shrugged, not in the least bit concerned. "Half hour maybe."

"And Dean?"

"Well, if I know Dean at all, and I think I do, he will have given up on those three graves at Saint Angelica's Cemetery, and start looking for Sam elsewhere."

"So that leaves Jake. Alone."

"Yes, it does."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean drove through town, frantically searching anywhere he could think of for stone angels. They had to be somewhere if Missouri saw them. Only he now wondered if she'd picked up on a vision from Sam or had she somehow managed to enter Charlie's mind? He had thought of Charlie when she'd asked him to concentrate on Sam. Maybe Missouri was seeing only what Charlie wanted her to see.

Charlie had known he would go to the cemetery. Had left a note for him there. How else would he have known that? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Charlie was playing him for a fool again, and even if Sam was buried underground, it was probably further from town. And knowing Charlie it would be someplace that would hold particular meaning to both Sam and Dean.

That also posed another terrifying question. What if Sam wasn't buried underground somewhere? What if Charlie and the Yellow-Eyed Demon were holding him captive and torturing him again? He was positive Sam couldn't handle anymore abuse coming from Charlie. The last time had nearly torn his brother apart, and Sam was still suffering mentally as well as physically from the viciously brutal attack.

The sound of his phone ringing, tore Dean from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. Fishing his cell out of his jacket pocket, he jabbed the receive button with his thumb, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Dean, it's Jake."

Hearing Jake's voice, Dean let out the pent breath he'd been holding. "He's not there, is he?"

"Nope, your instincts were right." Jake was quiet for a moment, and Dean could tell he was trying to figure out how to tell him something, and if the usually boisterous older man was having trouble spitting out the words, Dean knew it had to be pretty bad.

"What is it, Jake?"

"Found something in one of the caskets, Dean."

Dean's heart caught in his throat, thinking of how Charlie cut off the index finger of his victims, and feared that is what the older man might've found. Swallowing hard, Dean managed to choke out, "What?"

"A letter." Jake's voice trailed off again, and when he spoke again, Dean could hear the slight tremor in his voice. "Addressed to me."

_Damn it, I left him alone. I shouldn't have left him alone. _"What did it say?" Dean's throat had constricted so painfully hearing that, his voice came out sounding like no more than a rasp whisper.

"Said he was watching me . . . said I wouldn't make it out of the graveyard."

"Can you see anyone, Jake?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what he should do. He couldn't leave the older man alone to face Charlie. Jake had come to help him without giving any regard to his own safety, and if something happened to him, Dean would never forgive himself. But if he went back to the cemetery to save Jake, then Sam died.

"Thought I saw something a couple of times."

Slamming his hand against the steering wheel in frustration, Dean uttered, "Don't know what to do. Just don't know what to do."

"You listen to me, Dean," came Jake's clear strong voice. "You find Sam. You hear me. Find your brother, and make sure that sonuvabitch pays for everything he's done."

"Can't just leave you there . . . you have no idea what he's capable of."

"Think I do, an' that's why I'm tellin' you to go an' find Sam."

"But, Jake — "

"Don't give me no, but Jake's . . . told you to go, an if I have to, I'll call Margaret and have her give you an earful."

Dean opened his mouth to argue further, knowing Jake really had no idea what he was up against when he heard another voice on the other end of the line, and his stomach clenched painfully.

"Dean's right, Jake," came Charlie's low taunting voice. "He's not always the brightest boy, but you should've listened to him. Should've begged him to help you."

"Jake!" Dean screamed into the phone, hearing the older man's cries of pain. Tears slid unchecked down his cheeks as he continue to listen, praying that Jake would somehow manage to escape, yet knowing full-well that once Charlie had him, Jake didn't have much of a chance of surviving.

Within a few moments, that seemed like a lifetime to Dean, Jake's pitiful cries died away, and Dean heard the sound of slow steady breathing on the line.

"Dean," came Charlie's low sadistic voice. "Still there, Dean?" there was a tinge of humor in the crazed man's tone. When Dean failed to respond, Charlie pressed further, "Oh, come on, Dean, you knew he was going to die. Don't be so upset. What's one old man."

"You sick sonuvabitch," Dean growled into the phone, his body trembling with rage and heartbreak.

"Yeah, I really am, aren't I?" He chuckled. "Found your precious Sammy yet, Dean. Tick-tock, tick-tock, time is running out. Hell, he might already be dead for all I know."

"He's not dead." But even as Dean said this, a bitter feeling of doubt crept up inside him, gripping tightly around his heart, and choking off his breathing. "I would know if he was."

"Can you be so sure?" Charlie taunted further, "truth is, can you be sure Jake is dead either? Could just be another little ploy on my part to see how much further I can push you until you totally breakdown."

"I'm gonna kill you. You hear me, you sonuvabitch? Gonna chop you up in so many pieces, you'll never be able to crawl your way back out of hell."

"Careful, Dean," Charlie warned, a hint of derisive pleasure in his tone, "starting to sound a bit to much like me." He was quiet for a moment, and then added, "Course, I always did think we were a lot alike."

"Not gonna listen to your shit anymore." Dean was about to hang up the phone, when Charlie said something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"How many broken beer bottles does it take to kill the pain of one truly horrible memory. Cases and cases, I would imagine. Yeah, that seems about right to me."

_Sonuva —_ Dean slammed on the brakes, tires screeching loudly in protest. He did a quick u-turn, and headed out of town toward the place he'd taken Sam to relearn how to fire his gun. _Damn it. Should've freakin' known._ _Should've looked there first._

Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, the Impala's engine roared as Dean raced through town, blowing through stop lights and signs, mindless of the cars screeching to a grinding halt behind him. Car horns blared, breaking the quiet of the night, but he scarcely noticed, his thoughts only on getting to the old deserted road before it was too late.

"Better hurry, Dean. Think poor Sammyboy is just about outta air," Charlie warned, and then hung up.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the small coffin, and adjusted the oxygen mask over his face, taking slow shallow breaths. The soft whooshing sound of air coming through the thin tubing brought him little comfort, knowing that it would soon end, and he would alone in the dark, gasping for his last breaths.

He tried not to think of that or the huge cockroaches crawling around him in the darkness of his underground tomb. Tried not to think of anything that involved him being underground with no hope of escape.

Feeling a bug slip beneath the sleeve of his flannel shirt, he cringed and quickly slammed his arm against the side of the coffin, squashing it.

"Sam two, bugs zero," he muttered from beneath the face mask, and laughed almost hysterically at his own attempt at humor.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripped down the sides of his face and into his eyes from the unbearable heat inside the coffin. It felt as if the walls growing smaller and smaller by the moment, and although he'd never thought of himself as being claustrophobic, Sam was beginning to have a very real fear of being trapped inside such a cramped inclosed space.

It had been too long. Too long, and he knew in his heart that Dean would never find him in time. Knew he would suffocate, and Dean would never even be able to find his body. _I'm so sorry, Dean. Thought I could save you. Thought I could protect you if I made a wager. Should've known better. _

In the almost dead silence of the tomb, he could've sworn he heard things scratching at the outside of the coffin trying to get in. _More bugs . . . more bugs. They want to get in here. They're gonna get in here. _

Sam raked his fingers through his hair, swatting away at real and imaginary creatures he imagined to be crawling all over him. _I gotta get outta here. Gotta get outta here. Can't die down here like this._

Muscles bunching and straining, he pressed with all his strength against the lid of the coffin, not caring that he was buried underground, or the fact that he would probably suffocate all the much faster if he did somehow manage to get it open. He wanted out, that was all he cared about, and if he died trying, at least he knew he gave it his best effort.

Bringing up his knees, he continued to struggle against the lid, using both the strength in his arms and legs to try and jar the unmoveable cover. _Gawwd . . . come on, damn it! Just give a little. Just a little. Please. I don't wanna die down here._

Sam breathed in deeply, but drew in almost nothing. Panicking, he quickly tried to take another breath, and still yielded the same results. Fear gripping his heart, he glanced down in the darkness, not seeing the oxygen tank, but feeling its presence. The sound of air rushing through the tubing had all but ceased, and within a few moments, the sound faded away. The only noise left inside the tomb was the frantic beat of his heart in his ears, and the incessant sound of the cockroaches scurrying around him.

Giving up any pretense that Dean was going to somehow manage to save him in time, Sam kicked and thrashed around wildly, all thoughts concentrating on just one thing. Escaping. His lungs burned with the effort of drawing in no oxygen, but he kept fighting.

He blinked back the white lights that flashed before his eyes, beckoning him to join them. He wasn't giving up. Dean wouldn't give up, so neither would he, even though his mind was becoming increasingly more muddled, and his efforts to fight against his prison more ineffectual.

His fingers curled inward into tight clenching fists that he could not break as his remaining stores of oxygen began to deplete, muscles refusing to work properly. He knew he was dying. Knew his last ditch efforts to rescue himself were useless.

"Sorry, Dean," he said breathlessly.


	7. Chapter 7

_okay, couldn't leave everyone hanging with Sam outta oxygen for any longer cause that would just be too evil!! so new chappy!! thanks for all the awesome reviews!! apparently they make me writer faster!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

Removing the last of the dirt covering the grave, the Yellow-Eyed Demon leapt down to stand on top of the coffin. A derisive smile slid across his craggy features as he crouched to listen for any movement coming from inside the tomb.

"Come on, Sammy, use those wondrous talents you were born with to get yourself outta there." Glancing down at his watch, the demon had a moment of indecision, wondering if he'd waited too long to unearth the coffin. "Hell, I even made it easier for you. All you gotta do is pop that lid, an' you're home free."

He'd hoped that being buried alive would've sparked the kind of fury and desperation in the youngest Winchester to bring his latent powers to the forefront. Had actually counted on it, but now that he thought about it, he realized that as long as Sam believed Dean was alive, he would always count on his oldest brother to save him from any situation, no matter how dire and hopeless it seemed. It was a mistake the demon wouldn't make again.

He chuckled to himself, thinking how angry Charlie would be that the first part of his plan had backfired so miserably. "That's one for me, Charlie."

Cracking the lid open, he gazed into the darkness, and heard the unmistakable sound of Sam gasping and sucking in deep breaths of air. He reached down, grasped hold of Sam's sweat-sodden t-shirt and dragged him out of the coffin.

Sam's eyelids slid closed as sheer exhaustion overwhelmed him, barely registering where he was or who had just saved his life. He felt himself being hauled up out of the coffin, and tossed roughly on the ground above.

"D-Dea – " he tried to call out to his brother, but his voice came out as a hoarse, raspy sounding whisper. His lungs burned with the effort it took to force air into them.

Vaguely, he heard the sound of shuffling in the grass off to the side of him, and opened his eyes as he felt something cold and unnatural touch his arm. Turning his head to the side, he gazed bleary-eyed into the vacant stare of the girl from the grocery store. Her throat had been slit so viciously, Sam could see her spinal cord through the gaping hole in her neck. Dry blood spatters covered her face, and tinged her cream colored shirt to a dark rusty crimson color.

Confused, Sam looked around again, searching for his brother, certain he was hallucinating due to lack of oxygen. "Dean," he whispered into the darkness, silently pleading for his brother to answer.

From out of the shadows, a man moved toward him, and squat with elbows resting on his knees. "Guess again, Sammy," came the Yellow-Eyed Demon's taunting voice. "Didn't really think ol' Dean was gonna get to you in time, did you?"

The demon waited for a moment, watching as the look of confusion on Sam's face turned to one of abject fear and loathing. "Aw, you did, didn't you? That's so touching and sweet." He gestured toward the girl laying dead beside Sam, and continued, "You do remember her, don't you?"

Sam turned back to look at the girl one last time, and then returned his hate-filled glare to the demon. "You promised. Said if I came alone, she would live."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he chuckled manically. "Yet, I didn't say for how long. Loopholes, Sammy. It's all about the loopholes."

The demon stood, stepped around Sam, hauled the dead girl over his shoulder and carried her to the grave, unceremoniously dropping her inside the casket. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the lid slammed shut. "See, your brother's on his way here, and I figured if he's gonna go to all the trouble of digging up this grave, the least I could do is provide him with a body to find."

"You sonuva — "

"Yeah, demon remember, kinda goes with the territory." The Yellow-Eyed Demon chuckled. With another faint gesture of his hand, a gusting wind kicked up, and the dirt scattered across the ground blew into the grave, rapidly filling it.

With his back to Sam, the demon watched as the last of the dirt fell into place over the grave, then turned to look at Sam. "You've been a great disappointment to me so far, Sammy. Always the good little soldier, always trying to do what's right." He stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "But then again, it's always the good ones that fall the hardest, and that's what makes it so fun."

The demon advanced on Sam, and he tried to move away, but his muscles wouldn't respond. Lack of oxygen had them cramping painfully as a brutal stinging feeling coursed through his entire body, his sensations flooding back to him with overwhelming force.

Hauling him up by the armpits, the demon locked his arm around Sam's waist. Sam struggled ineffectually against the powerful demon, quickly using up his last stores of strength, and collapsed against the demon, his shaky legs giving out.

"What the hell do you plan to do to me," Sam snarled through clenched teeth.

"Well, that poses a problem, doesn't it?" The demon shrugged. "Do I give you over to Charlie now or do I keep you to myself for a while?" He thought about it for a moment, allowing the direness of the situation to sink in fully, before adding, "You'd certainly be in for a world of hurt either way, but which way would benefit me more?"

After a few more seconds of debating the options over inside his mind, a smile settled on the demon's face. "Yeah, think that's just what I'll do." And without telling Sam what he'd decided, the demon, gripped a tighter hold around him, and dragged him off into the darkness of the forest.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Barely taking his foot off the gas pedal, Dean turned abruptly onto the deserted road, tires sliding through the dirt and gravel, dust kicking up and leaving a smoky trail behind the car. Barreling down the road, he came to a grinding halt in front of the exact spot where they'd come to do target practice after their first encounter with Charlie, and was out of the car in a shot.

Half-limping, half-running, Dean raced to the trunk and popped open the lid, hastily grabbed a shovel in his good hand, and rushed toward the wooded area off to the left of the Impala. His mind solely on reaching Sam in time, he scarcely noticed the sharp thorny bramble cutting into his skin as he trampled through the overgrown brush.

At a clearing in the trees, Dean paused only long enough to take in his surroundings, searching for any signs of a grave, and spotted a mound of dirt under an old maple tree. Rushing toward it at full-speed, not giving thought to the pain coursing through his foot with each jarring step, Dean reached the grave, and began shoveling like a man possessed.

"I'm gonna get you out, Sammy! You hear me! I'm gonna get you out!" Dean shouted, praying his brother would somehow hear him from beneath all the hard-packed earth. Yet, he knew he was saying it more for his own benefit, as if by saying the words, it would make his brother be all right, and he needed to believe that. Needed to think that his brother could survive underground no matter how long he'd been under there.

Dirt flew through the air, a cloud of dusty smog filling the damp air as Dean shoveled furiously. His broken arm throbbed mercilessly, but he never let up, knowing each second he slowed down was another second his brother didn't have to waste.

_You gotta be alive, Sammy. You just have to be. I would know if you weren't. Would feel it if you were._

After what seemed like a lifetime to Dean, he finally hit the top of the coffin with his shovel, and was never so relieved in his life to hear the sound of metal clanking against wood. Dropping down on his knees, he pried open the lid. He gagged, the pungent scent of sweat and death filling the air.

Dean peered down inside the casket, fearing what he would see. An odd mixture of overwhelming relief, undeniable dread and guilt filled him as he stared at the girl Sam had risked his own life to save. His stomach clenched tightly as he gently brushed back the strands of blond hair covering her face.

"I — I'm so sorry. So damn sorry." Dean's throat constricted painfully as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Wish I'd never bought you those damn flowers. Wished I'd known this was how it would end up." He lowered his head, too ashamed to look at her anymore. "You got to believe me, I never meant for you to get hurt . . . never meant for any of this to happen."

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Dean heaved a deep pain-filled groan, his heart aching with not only the knowledge that his brother could very well be dead, but with the loss of Jake, Diana, and now this young girl.

Dean collapsed against the wall of the grave, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows on top of them as he continued to stare at the dead body. "Should've told Sam about Charlie. This might not have happened to any of you if I had."

A flash of light lit up the darkness of night as the rumble of far off thunder punctuated the quietness surrounding Dean. Glancing up into the cloud-filled sky, Dean felt the first of what promised to be one helluva storm, dampen his face to mingle with his tears. In his hast to uncover the casket, he'd failed to even notice the impending storm nor did he now care about it as rain water began to pelt the ground in earnest.

Another brilliant burst of light lit up the sky, and he noticed for the first time how badly the girl's throat had been ripped open. Noticed her finger was missing. Noticed the little details that he'd failed to take in before while she was alive like that her eyes were more green than blue. Hair more sandy in color than blond, and that she wore a diamond engagement ring.

"Yeah, you'd figure. Ruined two lives there for the price of one."

Dean tried to look away from her, tried to push past the pain that was swiftly engulfing him to focus on how to kill Charlie, but failed miserably. "Never even asked your name, not that it matters now, but I would've really liked to know it."

His thoughts turned rapidly to Jake who had risked his life to help rescue Sam. And then to Margaret, who was probably at this moment at home waiting for her husband to return, not knowing that it would never happen. "I'm so sorry, Margaret . . . Jake. Should've made you leave . . . should've protected you. How do I tell Margaret? How do I begin to make up for all the damage I've caused?"

"Yeah, I'd kinda like to hear that myself," came a deep familiar voice from directly above Dean. Charlie squat beside the grave, resting elbow on knees, cleared his throat, and continued, "Her name was Cindy, by the way, said so on her name tag." He chuckled at Dean's contemptuous glare. "And for what it's worth, she really was a bad cashier. Actually did the world a favor. No more broken eggs squashed on the bottom of a bag full of cans."

"Where the hell is Sam?" Dean snarled as he leapt to his feet, jarring pain ripping through his injured foot. He let out a low hiss, squeezing his eyes shut against the dagger sharp pain racing up the length of his leg.

"Truthfully, not sure." Charlie gestured toward the coffin. "Left him here. So that means either he escaped on his own, which I'm doubting at this moment cause if he did, he'd be attached to your hip. Or, and this is the one I'm betting my money on, the Yellow-Eyed Demon freed him." Charlie laughed, a flash of lightning lighting up his dark hawk-like features. His deep menacing eyes filled with amusement. "It's kinda like a good game of Risk. Strategy is everything, and whoever owns the most pieces of land at the end wins." He grinned at the thought of his own analogy. "Yeah, just like a game of Risk. However it seems as if you and Sammyboy are on the losin' end of the game, ownin' some flea infested country like Afghanistan, surrounded on all sides by mounting forces."

"You're forget one thing, you sonuvabitch." Dean said, matching his features to that of Charlie.

"An' what would that be?"

"That we're Winchester's, an' we make our own rules." Dean flung his arm out and swept it across Charlie's ankles forcefully, knocking him to the ground.

Grabbing hold of the edges of the grave, Dean quickly hoisted himself out, and was back on his feet within a second. Charlie regained his footing at nearly the same time and they circled each other. Dean clenched his fists, prepared to beat the man to death with his bare hands.

"What are you gonna do, Dean? Try and kill me?" Charlie taunted.

"Gonna do more than just try."

"Well, that would be a shame. Poor Jake countin' on you to save him. All tied up . . . no place to go."

"You're lying. You killed him."

Cocking a brow, Charlie crossed his arms and smiled derisively. "Maybe. But can you really afford to kill me when you're not sure. Another life hanging in the balance, and all that crap." His grin deepened. "An' I can promise you this much. If you try and kill me now, you'll never find him. What will poor Margaret think if she ever found out you let good ol' Jake die?"

Reluctantly, Dean relaxed his posture fists unfurling. He couldn't risk Jake's life no matter how slim the odds were that he was alive. Margaret would never forgive him, and he would never forgive himself either, for that matter. "Where is he?"

"Oh, so now you believe me," Charlie said, still circling although Dean had come to a complete stand still.

Dean turned his head from side to side, following Charlie's movements, but made no outward attempt to attack him, needing to know where Jake was, if he was indeed alive. "Didn't say I believed you, just not willing to risk Jake's life, no matter how small the odds are that he is still alive."

"You know that is why you'll lose, right? Your regard for human life will be your downfall."

"Would rather die knowing I tried to save a life then to be a sick sonuvabitch like you."

Charlie came up alongside him, leaned in, and whispered, "Well then, you'd better hurry cause he's bleedin' pretty bad . . . but then again, so are you." And without further warning, Charlie raked a blade across Dean's back. Dean arched foreward, a low hiss of pain escaping his lips as the cold steel sliced through his flesh. Before he had a chance to recover, Charlie kicked him forcefully into the open grave. "So long, Dean. Think I'll pay your doctor friend a visit."


	8. Chapter 8

_okay, so it's kinda gruesome...or at least I think so...so fair warning from here on out I'm pretty darn sure it's just gonna get worse...let me know what you think!! love those reviews!!_

_Chapter Eight_

At the sound of the door opening then sliding closed, Dr. Lee glanced up from her medical files to see a dark-haired man entering the medical clinic. Splattered with blood, he took slow staggered steps toward her. Seeing the man almost stumble, she was on her feet in an instant, and rushing toward him.

"Sir, are you alright?" she asked, and when he didn't immediately respond, she further added, "where are you hurt? I can help you."

The man looked up at her briefly, dark penetrating eyes searching hers, before he fell into her arms, forcing her backwards into the counter. His warm breath against the side of her face made her flesh crawl, and surprised by her own reaction to it, the doctor quickly tried to free herself from him. But his hand tangled around her hair, and he viciously yanked her head back so she was looking him directly in the eyes.

"Hi ya, Doc, think you've probably been expecting me." He grinned as he leaned in and forcefully kissed her on the lips. Breaking contact, he tilted backward slightly to get a better look at her. "Dean says hello . . . I'm sure Sammyboy would've too, but I'm not exactly sure where he is at the moment."

"Ch-Charlie?" she stammered, her heart hammering away inside her chest.

"Ah, so Dean does talk about me. Flattering. Hope it's all good stuff, wouldn't want our first meeting to start off on a bad footing." He trailed his fingertips down the side of her cheek. "That would just be awkward."

"Wh-where's Dean?"

His fingers lightly traced a path down her neck to her chest. "Trying to make me jealous, Doc. Cause I gotta warn ya, I'm not really the jealous type." Leaning back in so the sides of their faces nearly touched, he whispered in her ear, "Usually just kill the competition, easier that way."

"You killed him?" Doctor Lee trembled, fearing that if Dean was in fact dead, there would be no one to stop Charlie.

"Naw, where would be the fun in that. Can't watch him squirm if he's dead." Charlie chuckled. "Should've seen the look in his eyes when I tore poor Sammy apart. So terrified . . . so helpless."

"H-he'll kill you."

"Already did," Charlie grinned sardonically, "as you can see that didn't work very well for him." Gingerly rubbing at the thick raised scars running down the length of his cheek, he added, "Although he did manage to mess up my face . . . owe him for that."

Splaying out his hand, he turned his head to the side to peer into the examining room. At the sound of a loud crash, and shattered glass falling to the floor, Doctor Lee flinched, and tried desperately to move away from Charlie, to no avail. His grip tightened around her hair as she saw one of her scalpels floating across the room of its own accord, coming to rest in his outstretched hand.

"Yeah, definitely owe him for that."

Tears spilled down her face as Charlie gripped a hold of her neck and raised the blade to her cheek. She tried to back away, but his grasp tightened as he forced his body into hers.

"One cut for every one Dean left on me." Charlie grinned as slashed downward with razor-sharp blade, and she screamed out in agony, tears mingling with her blood to cover Charlie's hand. Slicing even deeper into her flesh the second time, he laughed at the sounds of her pitiful whimpering. He leaned in and licked the blood from her cheek, and she shuddered. Pulling back again, he looked her in the eyes. "Doesn't taste as good as Sam's did, but it's not bad."

Blood spurted from her face as he slowly dragged the scalpel down her skin a third and forth time. Her knees buckled, but his iron grip held her upright. "Can't have you buckling on me now, I've only just begun." Rounding his shoulder, he winced slightly, "Can't forget that Dean stabbed me in the shoulder, now can I?" Drawing back the blade, he plunged it into her shoulder, and viciously yanked downward, eliciting another scream of pain to rip from her lips. Yanking the knife out, he smiled and said, "almost forgot, he stabbed me twice there," and plunged it into her again.

Doctor Lee slumped against him, blood quickly staining her white lab coat crimson. Charlie backed away, and she fell to the floor. "Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it." He smirked. "You can blame Dean for this. He shouldn't have come to you for help."

She glanced up at him through blurry eyes, and although she was terrified, she hissed, "H-he's gonna make you pay for this."

"Yeah, not all that worried about it." Taking out his cell phone, he jabbed the button, and held it to his ear.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The sound of Dean's phone ringing, startled him back to consciousness. At first he wasn't sure where he was, although he could feel the rain on his face, and smell the earthy scent of mud and damp rotted wood lingering in the air. His first cognitive thoughts were of Sam, and where the hell he might be, and if he were still even alive.

Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbed his throbbing temples, and felt the lump on his forehead that must of happened when he'd struck his head after Charlie had pushed him into the open grave. The incessant sound of his phone ringing droned in his ears, and made his head pound even more furiously than it already was. Yanking it out of his pocket, he jabbed the button, and answered.

"What the hell do want?" he growled in aggravation.

"That's no way to answer the phone, Dean," came Charlie's menacing voice from the other end of the line, "a person might get the idea you don't want to talk to them."

"Where the hell is Sam and Jake?" Dean asked, not about to mince words with the crazed man.

"Oh, aren't you gonna even ask about Doctor Lee? She'll be so disappointed to know you think so little of her."

In the background, Dean heard her scream out his name, and then screamed even louder as Charlie did God only knows what to her. "Don't you hurt her or I swear to God, I'm gonna kill you."

"Yeah," Charlie chuckled, "that's what she said too, but I gotta say, you make an awful lot of threats, yet I find you sorely lacking on the actual follow through."

"Where the hell are you, you sonuvabitch?"

"Ah, there's the Dean I know and love . . . all fired up, ready to kick some ass, almost seems a shame that you'll be too late to save her." Charlie was silent for a moment, the only thing Dean could hear was his steady breathing, and the sounds of Doctor Lee crying in the background, and then came his low ominous voice again. "Started with her pretty face, Dean, not so pretty any more."

"You sick twisted sonuvabitch," Dean snarled into the phone as he made his way to his feet. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he tried to quell the spinning feel inside his head.

"Then stabbed her in the shoulder . . . twice." Charlie laughed.

"I'm coming for you, you're so dead when I get my hands on you."

"Every wound you inflicted on me, she's paying for now . . . but what came next, Dean? Do you remember? Think real hard."

Dean retraced his memories of that night in the bunker, recalling how he'd slashed Charlie's face open after stabbing him the shoulder twice, and a sick feeling welled up inside him as he remembered how he drove his knife into the madman's belly, and then yanked upward on it.

"Come on, Dean, you remember . . . tell me now or I promise you, I'll make it even more painful for her."

Dean was quiet for a moment, dreading saying the words that would seal the doctor's fate, but knew he had little choice in the matter. "Your stomach," he finally said in a hoarse whisper, the bile rising in his throat.

"Yeah, that one was a real bitch."

Doctor Lee's terrified screams grew louder, sounding as if she were standing right beside Dean, and then he heard her gasp deeply, her panicked screams cut short, replaced by a sick gurgling noise.

"Now what, Dean?" came Charlie's voice again, his slow steady breathing unnerving Dean. "Aww . . . can't remember, I'll help you with this one . . . do you recall slowly dragging the prongs of the Spanish Tickler through my chest, cause I sure as hell do."

Once again, Dean heard Doctor Lee gasp in pain, her cries turning to soft pleading whimpers. Swallowing hard, Dean listened as she begged Charlie to kill her, and he knew he was helpless to stop it from happening.

"Now for the finishing blow, Dean, the one that should've sent me straight to hell. What was it? You know, the one where you told me it wasn't murder, it was revenge. You recall it don't you?"

Dean remained absolutely silent as he remembered driving the four pronged Spanish Tickler through Charlie's throat, but wouldn't give Charlie the satisfaction of hearing him say it.

"Tick-tock, Dean, tick-tock . . . I can make her suffer for as long as it takes you to say it." Charlie hesitated for a moment, allowing Dean to hear her low pitiful wailing, and then said, "Now tell me, What – was – the – killing – blow?"

Body trembling with scarcely control rage, Dean closed his eyes, trying desperately to block out the images of what he knew would happen next. "Y-your throat."

"What was that, Dean, couldn't quite hear you through Doctor Lee's screaming . . . say it again," Charlie said, tauntingly.

"Said, I drove those freakin' prongs through your goddamn throat, you sonuvabitch."

"That's right, give the man a prize," Charlie maniacal laughter was cut short as Dean heard the doctor cry out one last time, and then she was deathly silent.

Dean blinked back the tears welling in his eyes, his heart shattering into pieces as he waited for Charlie to speak again. He didn't have to wait long.

"Bet you're thinkin' that revenge doesn't taste so sweet now, right, Dean?" he said, and Dean could almost picture the sardonic grin on his face. "Best not to even actually consider it, unless you can stomach the consequences."

Taking slow measured breaths to try and regain his composure, Dean's grip tightened on the phone. "Where the hell is my brother?"

"Not really all that sure, Dean." Charlie was silent again, and then Dean heard him laugh. "Although I'm thinkin' your yellow-eyed friend may have him . . . now that would be a real bitch wouldn't it?"


	9. Chapter 9

so another chappy...hopefully eveyone enjoys!! thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think!! reviews are like chocolate to me, an i do so love chocolate!!!! bambers;)

"Wake up, Sammy," came Dean's voice out of the darkness, and Sam slowly opened one eye and then the other, and saw his brother leaning against a wooden table on the far side of the room.

Behind Dean there were pictures of them both on various hunts, eating at diners, going into motel rooms, and photos of them sleeping, lit up by a multitude of candles on the table. On the table, various weapons were laid out, glinting ominously in the flickering light of the candles.

Sam tried to move, but heard the clang of metal, and glanced to his left side and saw that his hand was chained to the wall, he then looked to the other side and saw the same. "Dean," he said in a hoarse raspy whisper, "what's going on? Where are we?"

"You don't remember, Sammy?" Dean tilted his head to the side as he continued to stare at Sam, unnerving the younger Winchester. "Thought you'd never forget this place."

Slowly Sam took a look around the damp musty room, the scent of rotted flesh assailing his senses causing him to gag. Dark dried splatters covered the ground that looked an awful lot like blood. Chains hung from the ceiling in various locations, and Sam was forced to swallow down the bile rising in his throat when he noticed Diana's decaying body drooping from one of the sets. Her head was held aloft by a metal bar that stuck into her chest and under her chin, dried blood ran down the length of her cream color shirt. Diana's chest was torn wide open as if it wasn't enough just to cut her, it looked as if something had grabbed a hold of both sides of her ribcage and ripped them wide apart.

He turned back to Dean, and swallowed hard, feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. "The bunker . . . wh-why are we here?"

"You didn't actually think Charlie lived, did you Sammy?" Dean hesitated for a moment, a subtle smirk settling on his features as he quirked a brow. "Yeah, didn't happen."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Sam asked in confusion.

"Never actually saw him did you? Talked to him? No, Sam he died . . . I killed him. Made my own deal to save you . . . my soul for your life."

"That's not true," Sam adamantly shook his head as his mind raced, trying to recall if he'd actually talked to Charlie or seen him in all this time, but his dream and the vision of Charlie by the window of their motel room before he'd disappeared were the only things he could come up with. "It – it can't be true."

"Why not," Dean crossed his arms, his smile widening, "Dad made a deal, like father like son . . . and I am definitely my father's son." He chuckled. "By the way, Dad says hello."

"Why would you do that?"

Dean shrugged. "You were dying. You're injuries far too severe, and I did what I had to do," he said matter-of-factly.

"No," Sam shook his head again, "you'd be in Hell right now if you made a deal."

Sighing deeply, Dean reached for the Spanish Tickler on the table, then pushed away from where he was leaning and stalked over to Sam. "Ever heard of Hell on Earth, Sammy? Cause I'm thinkin' if there is such a place, this would be it," he said as he gestured around.

Sam eyed the weapon in his brother's hand, dread and horribly terrifying memories flooding him. "We can get you out of this, Dean. There has to be a way."

Dean wavered for a moment in his steps as if considering what Sam had said, and then pursed his lips and gave a curt shake of his head. "Too late, Sam, killed too many people."

"You couldn't have killed all those people from the hospital," Sam said, latching onto the one fact that Dean couldn't dispute as he'd spent most of the last year not far out of Sam's sight. "You're lying, you aren't Dean."

"True, I didn't kill them, you got me there," Dean grinned, "didn't say I killed them though, was actually talking about Doctor Lee, Diana, Jake, and that simpering cashier . . . have to say she was my favorite as she was so random and meaningless."

"If you didn't kill them, then who did?"

Dean gave a slight shrug. "Demons . . . lots of demons around, you just never know where one of them will turn up. Was actually quite brilliant that they killed them all in the same way that you would've died . . . really ratchets up the guilt factor, doesn't it?"

"What kind of deal did you make?"

"Not gonna go into that with you, there's no way out of it."

"I asked what kind of deal, Dean!" Sam yanked on the cuffs encircling his wrists, trying to break free, to no avail.

"You sure you wanna know?" Dean glanced down at the Spanish Tickler in his hand, a devious smile playing across his features as he strode the rest of the way to where Sam was trapped.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," Sam said, and turned his face, closing his eyes as Dean raised the sharpened prongs up to softly run them along Sam's cheek.

"To serve the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Actually a good deal . . . made me a General in his army . . . an' I didn't even know I had the military training for the job." He laughed as he dug a little deeper with the prongs, blood oozing from beneath the razor-sharp tines. "Pissed off a lot of demons who thought I should be rotting in Hell, and being their own personal punching bag."

"Dean would never make that deal . . . you're lying." Wincing, Sam felt the sting of the prongs as Dean traced a path down his neck, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

"For you, I would, Sammy . . . there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Sam opened his eyes to stare at his brother, and although he looked just like Dean there was a coldness in his green eyes the likes of which Sam had never seen before. "If that's true, then why would you be trying to hurt me now?"

"Just a job, dude, just like any other," Dean said as if it should be obvious. "You aren't living up to ol' Yellow-Eye's expectations. He's given you every opportunity, and you've failed miserably at every attempt. So they left it up to me."

Dean raked the prongs down the length of Sam's chest, and Sam bit down hard on his lower lip, forcing himself not to cry out as the prongs sliced into his skin. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled Charlie doing the same thing to him.

"Left what up to you?" Sam breathed hard, trying to remain calm.

"It's an army, Sammy, he wants you to be all you can be . . . an' as a General in that army it's up to me to make sure you're ready for war." Dean brought the Spanish Tickler back up to rest on Sam's throat. "Hell, if I do a good job, they may even promote me to a five-star General . . . wonder if they have five-star Generals in the demon army," he rubbed his jaw as if in thought, "huh, maybe should've asked that when I enlisted."

"This isn't you talking, Dean," Sam choked out, the Tickler against his throat making it hard to speak, "you'd never agree to this."

Gripping onto either side of Sam's cheeks with his hand, Dean roughly squeezed his face, forcing Sam to look him dead in the eyes. "I was raised to be a cold-blooded killer, Sam, trained by the very best. And you, like everyone else, have no idea what I'm really capable of doing if backed into a corner."

The truth and force behind that statement struck Sam momentarily speechless. Their father had trained them well, maybe a little too well, and both could be considered lethal weapons, and if Dean had actually struck a deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, had actually given into the darkness that deal invoked, then Sam was quite certain Dean was capable of committing any number of unspeakable acts.

"Not so sure now, are you, Sammy? Thought just by speaking some of your 'I'll get you out of this deal' crap, you could save me . . . sorry not gonna work this time."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked resignedly.

"Just give into the gifts that were given to you," Dean smirked, and eased up his hold Sam's face. "Then things can go back to the way they were . . . you an' me on a cross-country road trip, but instead of stopping evil, we can have ourselves a little fun."

"That's it? That's all I have to do?"

"Yep, that's all. And, dude, you can't even begin to imagine what you're even capable of doing, if you did, you'd never have fought it for so long."

"What about Dad?"

"What about him, he made his bed, let him lie in it," Dean replied coldly.

With a curt nod, Sam looked his brother in the eyes. "Christo," he uttered in a near whisper, and Dean instantly recoiled. Clearing his throat, Sam snarled, "You're not Dean, you Yellow-Eyed sonuvabitch."

"Got me there, Sammyboy," Dean's eyes flashed golden in the dim light. "Had you going there for a bit though, didn't I?"

"Where's my brother?"

"Could be dead for all I know." The Yellow-Eyed Demon turned his back on Sam, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Charlie really has it in for him. Wants him to suffer for what happened." he swung back to face Sam. "Don't remember what happened, do you Sammy . . . neither of you do."

Sam's brows narrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Yeah, too bad Daddy Dearest isn't around to tell you all about it himself," the demon hesitated for a moment as he reveled in the information he had about Charlie that apparently had to do with their father. "Charlie just didn't randomly start stalking you and your brother. He had his reasons." Drawing in a deep breath, the demon smiled at Sam's total lack of understanding. "John made himself quite an enemy in Charlie. And he's made it his life's work to find you both and make you suffer for what John did to him."

"Don't know what the hell you're talking about," Sam snarled, "my father never ran across Charlie or we would've known about it. My Dad would've made sure we knew about him and the threat he represented."

"True," the demon scrubbed his hand across his face, "if he thought Charlie was still alive . . . actually, he thought he killed him. Too bad I stepped in and gave Charlie a little helping hand at the last moment."

"Why would my Dad try to kill him?" Sam asked thoroughly puzzled by the strange turn of events.

"Think back to when you were twelve and Dean was sixteen . . . I'll bet you there's about a two month gape where you can't recall a single detail . . . some scars that you just can't seem to explain or recall happening, but they're there nonetheless . . . am I right?"

Sam thought back to when he was younger and to all the scars he had and was surprised to find that the demon was right, but said nothing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Ever wondered why Charlie always kills in pairs? Always two men, usually always brothers?"

"He's a serial killer, it's his pattern," Sam said angrily, not liking the implication of what the Yellow-Eyed Demon was saying.

The demon chuckled menacingly as he glared at Sam. "Come on, Sammy, that's a weak answer even for you." He drew a deep breath, taking a dramatic pause for effect, and then continued, "He was killing you and your brother over and over again with every person he's ever murdered . . . how's that for ratcheting up the guilt?"

"That's not true . . . that can't be true."

"If you don't believe me, ask your good friends Bobby and Missouri. They were there, they knew what happened to you and Dean."

"You're lying! My father would've told us," Sam snarled.

"Yeah, cause you boys and your father never kept secrets from each other . . . and they say demons are the ones who can't be trusted . . . maybe it should be rephrased to say demons and the Winchesters can't be trusted."

"If it's true, then tell me what happened?"

"Not my tale to tell, Sammy, you'll have to ask Charlie for yourself . . . cause I have a feeling he's on his way here now to finish what he started."


	10. Chapter 10

_So, new chappy, sorry this has taken me so long to get back to. All i can say is that my mind is always being pulled in so many directions, that i get sidetracked easily!! thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Ten_

Dean sank to his knees hearing Doctor Lee's final screams for help, and then they died away and all he could hear was the menacing sound of Charlie's laughter. His hand fell away from his face, the phone he'd held in his grip dropping to the ground inside the grave where he sat. Lightning lit up the darkened sky overhead, a loud crack of thunder following as something close by was struck by the jagged bolt of light. Pouring rain showered down on Dean as he tiredly rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to get the mental image of Doctor Lee dying in the same way that he'd killed Charlie out of his mind.

The dead girl beside Dean stared blankly at him, her dull lifeless eyes condemning him for his part in her death. A simple act of kindness on his part turned wicked and evil by a madman who wanted to make him suffer before he finally delivered the death blow. Dean could handle dying, had been preparing for it his whole life, but his shattering heart couldn't handle the thought that so many people had died or would die because of him.

He forcefully willed the image of the dead girl from his mind as he thought of Sam. If the Yellow-Eyed Demon had Sam he would want to take him someplace where he was in total control over Sam's emotions. Someplace where Sam felt so out of control, he would be easy prey for the yellow-eyed bastard to manipulate. The demon would take Sam to a place where he'd been scarred so emotionally, it had left him shattered and in pieces. There were only two places Dean could think of that would cause Sam that much pain. The first was the Stanford, but he quickly discounted the college as a place where the demon would take his brother. Although Jess's death had shattered Sam emotionally, and had made it hard for his little brother to get close to anyone, Sam had eventually moved on.

Dean would stake his life on the second place . . . stake his brother's life on it. The demon had to have taken Sam to the bunker where Charlie had cruelly tortured him. Sam had been so broken physically and emotionally after what Charlie had done to him there, he hadn't been the same person since.

He needed to talk to someone who would understand the mind of the Yellow-Eyed Demon. The demon wanted something from Sam, had made a wager with the youngest Winchester to get it, and Dean couldn't let the bastard win. Grabbing his cell, Dean jabbed the button to call Bobby. After several rings, Bobby finally answered.

"Hello?" the older man mutter said as he stifled a yawn.

"Bobby, need your help," Dean said in a heated rush, knowing he was running out of time to save his brother.

"What's wrong," came Bobby's gruff voice, now sounding wide awake with concern evident in his tone.

"Yellow-eyes has Sam . . . think I know where he is, but Sam made some sort of wager with him."

"A wager?"

"Charlie's back . . . thought he was dead, I — I really did," Dean's voice hitched in his throat, "he's killed so many people . . . all my fault."

"Get yerself together, Dean. You aren't gonna be any help to anyone if you're lettin' these bastards get inside yer head," Bobby said in a no nonsense manner. "This isn't your fault. Got me?"

"It is my fault, wanted to believe so badly he was gone . . . should've known better."

"Listen, if the ol' yellow-eyes has yer brother the only possible wager he would want to make with Sam is to get his soul."

"Figured that much out by myself," Dean said as he slowly got to his feet, Bobby's voice the stalwart anchor he needed to get himself moving again. "There has to be more to it than that though. Figure yellow-eyes is playin' Sam against Charlie, an seein' that he's the dealer in this freakin' game, he's gotta have a couple aces up his sleeve."

Bobby was quiet for a moment as if in thought, his deep steady breathing the only thing Dean could hear. "What if the demon's wager with both Sam and Charlie was the same bet?"

"Don't get what you mean," Dean said, cradling the phone to his ear as he pulled himself out of the muddy grave. Once out of the deep hole, he glanced around, searching for any signs of Charlie, but didn't see anyone or anything that would point to the madman still being around.

"Well, from what you told me about Charlie, the demon gave him supernatural abilities cause of the wager he'd made the first time."

"Yeah, so what does that have to do with Sam?" Holding the phone to his ear, Dean sprinted through the rain toward his car.

"What if this is all to get Sam to use the abilities the demon gave him?"

"So you think the demon planned all of this . . . this and what happened before just to get to Sam?"

"Think about it, Dean. Those two guys he killed in the car that looked very similar to your own, how could he have possibly known you would have gone that way out of town? An' when he shot Sam, he was there before your car ever went off the road. Those are just not things a man could predict." Bobby hesitated for a moment, giving Dean time to mull over all that he'd said, and then continued, "Charlie always knew where you were, could find you no matter where you went . . . even if he was a damn good FBI agent, he wouldn't have found you that easily on his own."

Dean thought back to the first time Charlie had come after them. The madman had always been one step of them. Charlie had known things he couldn't have possibly known unless someone or something else was helping him along the way. When he looked back on every move they had made since they'd first encountered Charlie, they now seemed finely orchestrated to fit into the plans the demon had for Sam. Dean could have kicked himself for not realizing until this very moment that Charlie had broken Sam so it would be easy for the demon to move in for the kill.

"So, if Sam uses his abilities to kill Charlie . . . even if he wins against the madman, he still loses?" Dean asked, although he already knew the answer.

"If he gives into that dark part of himself, I would say yeah, he'd lose," came Bobby's grim reply.

"Then Sam's wager with the demon would have to be that he kills Charlie," Dean muttered, brows furrowing into a deep scowl as he pieced together the puzzle. "An' Charlie's wager with the demon would be to get Sam to use his abilities to kill him."

"I'd think that was a safe bet to say," Bobby agreed.

"So for Sam to beat them both, he would have to kill Charlie without using his abilities?" As Dean said this, sheer terror gripped hold of his rapidly beating heart. He picked up speed, dodging around trees and jumping over shrubs as he ran toward the car. Tree branches scratched at his arms and face, but he scarcely noticed, so intent on getting to his brother before Charlie got there.

Sam had barely lived through what the madman had done to him without Charlie having supernatural abilities. And in the hospital elevator, after they'd escaped the bunker, Dean had experienced firsthand what Charlie could do with his abilities, and feared his little brother wouldn't be strong enough to kill Charlie without giving in and using his own abilities.

"He can't win this wager, Bobby," Dean muttered in defeat, slowing in his steps as he finally reached the Impala. "The demon and Charlie both know it, an' Sam just walked right into their trap. No matter what he does, he loses." Opening the car door, Dean slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door shut. Starting the engine, he threw the car in drive, and pulled out onto the road, heading toward Idaho and the bunker Dean was certain he'd find Sam at.

"Listen to me, Dean, there might just be a way to stop Charlie." Bobby drew in a breath, then slowly released it, and Dean could almost imagine the older hunter scrubbing his hand through his scruffy beard as if deep in thought. "In biblical times, there was legend of a shield on which was inscribed the seventy-two letter name of God — " Bobby took another deep breath, and was about to say more, but Dean cut him off.

"So you're suggesting that I go on some sort of wild goose chase for some magical shield. Maybe I can find Jim Morrison or Elvis while I'm at it . . . so not the help I'm lookin for, Bobby."

"Ya gonna shut up an' listen to me, Dean," Bobby heaved an aggravated groan, and without having to see him Dean could picture the older man rolling his eyes and shaking his head in frustration. When Dean remained silent, Bobby continued, "It was said that it protected King David from his enemies, much in the same way as Solomon's signet ring protected and gave him power over demons. But here's where the whole thing gets a bit sketchy."

Dean pulled the phone way from his ear and stared at it in disbelief. So far everything Bobby had said was sketchy and didn't make a whole helluva lot of sense to Dean, and he was quickly losing his patience. "Bobby, what does any of this have to do with Sam?"

"Your amulet, Dean," Bobby heaved another heavy groan, "from everything I've gathered about it, your amulet was made from the brass shield that David owned. I'd given it to Sam to give to your father, figuring he could use it against the Yellow-Eyed Demon, but Sam gave it to you instead."

Dean recalled the Christmas that Sam had given the amulet to him. Sam had wrapped it with the intent of giving it to their father, but when he never showed up on Christmas morning, Sam had given it to Dean instead. From that day forward, Dean had never taken it off, and considered it his most prized possession. "So how does this help Sam? I was wearing it when Charlie attacked me on the elevator, an' it didn't protect me from him."

"Probably cause ya didn't expect it to," Bobby smoothly countered, "King David believed in the shield, believed in the power behind it, while you just wore it cause Sam gave it to ya."

"So if Sam has the amulet an' believes it will protect him from Charlie, it will render Charlie powerless?"

"All I know is that when I owned it, I walked away from many hunts that I should've probably died from, an' I really believe in its power."

"If Sam uses the amulet to render Charlie powerless and kills him, then Charlie loses the bet with the demon, and the demon loses the bet with Sam?"

"I would say so as long as Sam doesn't kill him by any supernatural means."

A slow smile crept across Dean's features as he thought of the look on Charlie's face when he found out his abilities wouldn't work on Sam. Dean just needed to figure out a way to give the amulet to Sam and make him understand it could protect him. But without knowing what he was walking into when he headed back inside the underground bunker, Dean knew it was going to be almost impossible to have a moment to explain to his brother all that he'd figured out.

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Look, I'm packin' up my huntin' gear right now, then I'll be headed out to meet you — "

"No, Bobby," Dean abruptly cut him off, "not about to have your death on my hands too . . . you just stay away."

"Tell me where you're going," Bobby argued, "not about to let you face the demon and Charlie on your own."

"Sorry, Bobby, but you really don't have a choice in the matter," Dean said, and hung up the phone.


	11. Chapter 11

so, very long time on updating this story, and I really have no excuse except for the fact that it is really hard to write someone as evil as Charlie. After working on this story, I am always left in a really dark place and it makes it very hard on me...so, all that said, I'm sorry to anyone still willing to read!! thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews...bambers;)

_Chapter Eleven_

"You can beat him, Sam," the Yellow-Eyed Demon uttered, his fetid breath warm against Sam's cheek. "I've given you the means to do so. An' now it's up to you to use them to save Dean." He cocked his head to the side as he studied the youngest Winchester, trying to determine if Sam was listening to him, but couldn't be certain. "The power I've given him doesn't even begin to compare to the wondrous things you can do. Jus' give in to the anger an' rage burning inside of you, an' you could rip him to shreds without even lifting a finger."

"An' what happens to my brother if I beat Charlie?" Sam purposefully lowered his gaze as he mentally went over everything the demon was telling him. Everything Yellow-Eyes had done to him so far was in an attempt to get him to use whatever abilities he had bestowed on him. If that was the case then Charlie's wager with the demon had to be somehow related to his latent abilities.

"You're brother gets to live," the demon stated simply, "an' you get to live a life without hideous scars."

"So he gets to live. Like that girl got to live?" Sam gave a curt nod as he strained against his restraints. "Think I'll take care of Charlie in my own way without your help. Cause see, I'm not about to let my brother be just another loophole for you, you sonuvabitch."

"Well, that would require you growing a new set of balls, Sammy." The demon laughed as he cocked back a fist and slammed into the youngest Winchester's face. "Cause it's really got to be said that ever since you had your little run in with Charlie, you're really kind of pathetic."

"Huh, I was thinkin' the same thing about you," Sam spat vehemently.

A spark of fierce determination lit within him and grew into a raging inferno as the moments tick by. For all Dean had done to protect and shelter him after Charlie's brutal attack on them, Sam now realized that his brother hadn't done him any favors. He had been born to be a hunter, yet for all his countless hours of training, Sam was now just what the demon had said he was; he was weak and pathetic. He had cowered behind his brother, allowing his fears grow until they consumed him completely.

Somewhere along the line he had lost himself, lost sight of who he was, and had lived within the sheltered walls his brother had provided. Sam knew it wasn't Dean's fault; Dean had done what he always did when Sam was suffering or in pain. He protected him. But within the warmth and security of that protection, Sam had forgotten who he was, had forgotten that sometimes the things worth fighting for didn't come without a price.

For better or worse, he was a Winchester. And no matter how badly beaten or broken, Winchester's cowered to no man or demon.

With that sudden realization, it almost felt as if a dark veil had been lifted from deep within his soul. Over the past year, the horrific scars that littered his chest had literally defined who he was. But no longer. He was Sam Winchester. His job, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves no matter the cost. And if he died at the hands of Charlie or some damn demon, he would do it on his own terms.

Sam leaned in threateningly close, coming face to face with the demon, and hissed, "I will beat Charlie, an' I'll do it without your help or with the aid of any powers you seem to think I possess, you freakin' bastard."

As the demon studied Sam, some of the spark of fire left his glittering golden-eyed gaze. "Ahh . . . Sammy, there's the fight I've been missing in you. Better later than never, but I'm wondering if you'll feel the same way once Charlie gets here?"

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Awww . . . sure you are, Sam." The demon trailed a finger down over the raised scars on Sam's chest, "The scars he left here," he then moved his hand to lightly tap his fingertip against Sam's temple, "Have left even more damaging ones here."

"True," Sam admitted without shame, "but these scars are also a reminder of no matter how badly he might have hurt me, I survived. Against all odds, he didn't beat me then, an' he wouldn't do it now either."

"Brave words for someone who is about to lose his brother," came a cold and calculating voice from near the entrance of the bunker.

With a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, Sam tilted his head to the side just in time to see Charlie enter the underground room. The madman dragged Jake's body into the room, and dropped him in a heap beside Sam.

"An' that's not to mention having to watch you friend Jake die in the process." Cupping a hold of Sam's face, Charlie dug his fingernails into his flesh as he squeezed his cheeks. "An' no matter how brave you think you are, Sammyboy, I can still bring you to your knees."

Abruptly letting go of Sam's face, Charlie spun on his heel and headed over to the table where he'd left his weapons. Straining against his fetters, Sam watched as his captor loving trailed his fingers over all his torture devices, and inwardly cringed as Charlie lifted the Spanish Tickler in the air and the cold steel caught a glint of light. Lovingly caressing the weapon in his hand, he sauntered back to Sam.

"Ahh . . . careful, Sammy, I can see that little spark of fear you're tryin' so desperately hard to hide." Charlie chuckled as he lightly pressed the sharpen tines against Sam's cheek and gently traced the weapon down his neck, following the the path of scars he'd left behind from their last encounter.

Unconsciously holding his breath, Sam flinched as he turned his head away from the sight of the madman and the Spanish Tickler. "Jus' get it over with you bastard," Sam snarled, hating that Charlie could tease out his hidden fears with a single word or touch. "You can't hurt me more than you already have, so do your freakin' worst."

"Wow," Charlie pulled his hand away from Sam, and grinned, his dark eyes alighting with pure derisive pleasure. "I gotta say that I really like this new side I'm seeing of you, Sammyboy." His gaze slipped to Jake for the briefest of moments before he refocused his attention on Sam. "Cause I was really afraid that I wouldn't enjoy torturing you as much this time around." Without any given warning, his hand shot out, and he raked the sharpened tines through Sam's upper arm.

Involuntarily, a scream ripped from Sam's lips as blood spilled from the four deep gashes. Biting down hard on his lower lip, Sam breathed hard, consciously willing himself not to cry out anymore.

Charlie fisted his hand into Sam's hair and yanked his head backward so they were looking each other in the eyes. "An' you know what? I'm not disappointed, that was just as much fun as the first time around."

"But that wasn't the first time either, was it?" Sam sneered, remembering his earlier conversation with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. "The first time you came after me an' Dean, my Dad kicked your ass, didn't he?"

From behind Charlie, the demon chuckled. "He's got you there, Charlie. You really messed with the wrong Winchester that time, didn't you?"

Charlie's smirking grin faltered for the briefest of moments as he swung to glare at the demon. "Think I've more than made up for what he did to me, wouldn't you agree, smart-ass?"

"Oh, I don't know," the demon smoothly countered, "the scars John left on you make what you did to Sam seem like child's play." His yellow-eyed gaze ticked from Charlie's face to his hand and then back again. "An' hell if it weren't for me, you'd be known as four-finger Charlie now instead of that ridiculous name you go by." He chortled as his steely gaze fell to Sam. "You're father's got style, boy, that much I'll give him. He went after Charlie with more vengeance than I've witnessed in a very long time. It really was a thing of beauty to behold."

Instead of being daunted by the demon's comments, Charlie merely smiled as he pressed his fingers against Sam's stomach. "You should've seen your Daddy's face when he got his first really good look at you after what I did to you an' your brother, Sammyboy." He quirked a brow as he further added, "An' your brother was such a fighter even back then." He barked out a harsh laugh as his eyes took on a faraway look. "But I broke him. He just crumbled apart in front of my eyes. An' all it took to do that was breaking you."

"From where I'm standing, it sounds more like my Dad broke you, you sonuvabitch," Sam taunted, beyond caring if the madman hurt him anymore. "An' if I know my father, which I think I do, he probably tore you apart limb by freakin' limb."

"Damn near did," the demon interjected, amusement clearly evident in his tone. "Like I said before, John certainly knows how exact revenge on those who have wronged him. He's makin' for a real nice addition to Hell."

"You know what, Sammy?" Charlie said as he knelt beside Jake's prone body, and then glanced up at Sam through lowered lashes. "Let's let the past be the past, an' start with a fresh slate, shall we?" As Charlie uttered this, he hefted the older man to his feet and dragged him over to an old wood chair sitting in the middle of the room and handcuffed him to it. "You're Dad did some things to hurt me, I did some things to hurt you an' your brother, but no one's done anything to hurt poor Jake here, an' I'm thinkin' he's feeling a bit left out . . . what do you think?"

"Don't you dare touch him. You wanna hurt me, then damn it hurt me, but leave him the hell out of this," Sam hissed, fear for his friend now pushing through his faltering bravado. "You wanna fight, I'll give you one you'll never forget, jus' leave him alone."

"Careful there, Sam," the demon taunted as he leaned against the wall beside Sam and crossed his arms to watch whatever Charlie was planning on doing to Jake. "Cause unless you're plannin' on using the abilities I've given you, he gonna rip you apart piece by piece. An' no matter how brave you seem to think you are at the moment, you'll be begging him to stop long before he's even remotely finished with you."

"What do ya say, Sammyboy?" A devilish glint filled Charlie's eyes as he moved to stand behind Jake's chair, and placing his hands on either side of the older man shoulders, he leaned in closer so his face was side by side with Jake's. "I'll fight ya for him. An' if I win, you get to watch him die before I kill you."

"You can beat him, Sam," the demon said confidently, "you just need to set aside your fears and embrace what you really are. Use what I've given you, an' send him to Hell where he belongs. I'm sure your Dad will be glad to see him there."

Without any other option available to him, Sam opened his mouth to agree, but as he took a moment to really think about what they both were saying, something clicked inside of him. His mouth snapped shut as he realized that the demon and Charlie were both trying to goad him into using his abilities to beat Charlie. He could almost understand the demon's reasoning for it as it had been always been in his plans for Sam to use the powers he had bestowed on him. But Charlie seemed just as eager to see him use his latent abilities, if not even more so than the demon. And if that were the case, then their wager must have had something to do with getting Sam to use his power to beat the madman. From what Dean had told him of the first wager Charlie had made, Sam understood the crazed man would think nothing of allowing himself to be killed if it meant he got what he wanted in the end. And Sam shuddered to think of what he would gain in the wager this time around.

"Tick-tock, Sammy, tick-tock," Charlie jeered as he pressed his fingertips into the side of Jake's throat in a threatening manner. "Make a decision now or watch as you force me to do something really horrible to your friend."

"No, I won't fight you," Sam muttered as he gave a curt shake of his head, and then lowered it, hating himself for having made the wager in the first place.

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked, clear disappointment in his voice. "You're not even gonna try to save his life after all he's done for you an' Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam muttered, and if it were even possible he lowered his head even further as his shoulders slumped in defeat. Even if he won the wager he had made with the demon, he still lost, and dreaded the thought of having to face Margaret and tell her he had done nothing as he watched her husband die. "Jus' get it over with," he hissed is a breathy whisper, brimming tears threatening to spill at any given moment.

"Damn, that's cold." Charlie laughed, unnerving Sam even further than as he already was. "Guess you really are the weakest link in the Winchester family, you freakin' coward."

"I guess I am," Sam breathed in a barely audible whisper, not about to let the madman goad him into losing the wager he had made to save Dean's life.

"Alrighty then, but don't say I didn't warn you this would be brutal to watch." Charlie strode toward the back of the room, grabbed something off the floor and brought it back to where Jake was sitting.

Placing Jake's chin on the metal bar of the cruel looking contraption, he slid the older man's head beneath the cap, and tightened it into place with large turn screw. Then Charlie returned his attention to Sam. With a flick of his wrist, Sam's head slammed back hard against the wall, and was held there firmly so he was forced to watch what Charlie did to Jake. "Wouldn't want you to miss a moment of this, Sammyboy. It's gonna be really cool, " he assured as he placed his hand on top of the long turn screw that rested above the metal cap on Jake's head. "It's called a Head Crusher, in case you didn't know."

His gaze slid to the two sturdy outer bars that held the metal cap in place. "Back in the day, men used to use this device to extract information before crushing the heads of their victims." He turned the screw a half turn and Sam heard Jake groan as his eyes shot open. "It'll shatter his teeth . . . crush his jaw, mangle his brain . . . an' from everything I've studied on the subject, if you squeezed their heads hard enough, their eyes will pop right out of their sockets." With a playful wink, he further added, "Like I said, really cool, huh?"

"So is that still a no, Sam?" The Yellow-Eyed Demon asked as he folded his arms and crossed his legs, preparing himself to watch the horrific display of Charlie's cruelty. "Or have you suddenly changed your mind."

"S-Sam," Jake uttered through clenched teeth, and as Sam turned to look at him, he saw the older man shake his head as a single tear slipped down his cheek. "Wh-whatever they want from you, the answer is n-no. Understand me?"

"Don't listen to him cause he'll be changing his mind shortly. For some damn reason, people always seem to change their minds whenever I use this damn thing on them." Charlie turned the screw again, tightening the cap around Jake's head. Jake groaned, his eyes squeezing tightly shut, but still refused to cry out as Charlie tightened the screw another half a notch. "So what's it gonna be, Sammy, you gonna just sit there an' do nothing as Jake dies or are you gonna fight me?"

"I – I . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he swallowed hard, knowing that if he did nothing Jake would die, but if he lifted a finger to help him Dean would die in his place. No matter what he did or said now, with his wager he had damn one of the people he cared about to suffer and die a brutal death. But no matter how much he might have wished things were different, wished that he had never made the stupid wager with the demon, he couldn't change things now.

"No," he said with utter and complete hopelessness. He knew he was condemning his friend to die an extremely painful death, but the alternative was to see his brother die like he had seen in his vision, and he just couldn't let that happen.

"Alright, have it your way, but just remember his death is on your shoulder, Sammy." Charlie turned the screw again, and this time, Jake did scream.


End file.
